


Drugs, Parallel Worlds, and an Alpha Pack Full of Dicks: A Memoir by Dean Winchester

by Vengeful_Authoress



Series: Badly Kept Secrets and Convoluted Hunts: A Saga by the Beacon Hills Pack [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, Infiltration, M/M, The Alpha Pack, made up psychedelic drugs, parallel world au, parallel world personalities, roaring 20s clothing, steampunk weapons, the Alpha Pack is the mafia, the Nemeton Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Authoress/pseuds/Vengeful_Authoress
Summary: After Castiel's powers go haywire, Dean and Cas are whisked away to a strange and mysterious world. With no idea as to how to get home, they make contact with what they think is Derek's Pack, but all is not how it seems. The Hale Pack has been deposed by the dreaded Alpha Pack who now run Beacon Hills from the underground. Can Dean and Cas overthrow the Alpha Pack before they're discovered and killed? Can they find their way back to their own world? And most importantly, can they get their own damn feet out of their mouths and finally admit that they have feelings for each other?





	1. Not in Kansas Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Huzzah - the story of Dean and Cas's adventure is finally done! This takes place after the events of the first part of the chapter Senior Party. Many of you will have already read this first chapter as I put it in the main story as a teaser - which I will probably go delete. This is really more of an Interlude than a Sequel. I'm hoping to post a chapter once a week - maybe sooner if I get bored. 
> 
> Anyways, you've waited long enough for this adventure! Enjoy!

 

“Cas, where the hell are we?” Dean demands, looking around him in shock. Maybe when the hell are they is the better question, but no, that’s no quite right either.

It sort of looks like Beacon Hills’ main street with its stretch of stores and restaurants, but the buildings are like nothing Dean has ever seen before. Almost everything is made out of glass with slim strips of chrome running through the walls to provide support. The glass panels are all different colors; some buildings have a single color scheme while others have multiple hues running through them, and the noonday sun shines through the panels so the street is washed with a soft, dancing rainbow.

The people bustling up and down the streets are dressed in clothes he hasn’t seen outside of movies. A lot of pinstripe, three-piece suits of assorted colors, full of slim lines and colorful ties, and knee-length, formless dresses patterned with sparkles and wide shapes. There are a lot of headbands with feathers stuck through them and wide-brimmed hats, every article worn by both the men and the women. All the people give Dean and Cas strange looks as they stream by.

“I do not know,” Cas says, staring around. “I’ve never seen this place before.”

“Do you think we’ve gone back in time?” Dean asks, eyeing the old-fashioned clothing.

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Dean spots Stiles coming up the sidewalk, moving briskly. He wears a red and black flapper dress with a blazer over it, one of those fedora-like hats on his head and a briefcase in hand. Relief hits Dean hard, and he slumps a little, smacking his hand against Cas’s chest as he nods towards Stiles. “Look.” Although, isn’t Stiles supposed to be on a date with Derek right now? And wasn’t he just wearing a green shirt, jeans, and a black blazer?

Dean grabs Cas’s hand as he pushes through the crowd towards Stiles, earning more of those odd looks. “Hey, Stiles! Oh man, it’s good to see you! What the hell is going on?”

Stiles stops and looks him over, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“It’s me, Dean.” Dean points to his chest as if that will help make his point clearer.

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know any Dean. I’m terribly sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.” He pushes past Dean and Cas so he can walk swiftly down the street, disappearing around the next corner.

“What the hell?” Dean says to Cas, spreading his hands out. Cas shrugs. Then Dean snaps his finger, the answer coming to him like a jolt of electricity. “I’ve got it! This is some Twilight Zone level shit!”

“You know I don’t understand that reference,” Cas says.

“We’re on a parallel Earth.”

But Cas doesn’t look convinced. “As an Angel of the Lord, I think I’d know if there were parallel worlds.”

“What other explanation is there, though?” Dean points out as he gestures around him. The air feels cooler here, crisper, than it did back on their Earth, or whatever, like this world is closer to autumn. Or maybe the weather is just different here. “I mean, look around. The Roaring 20s clothing, the weird buildings. Look at that sign – Beacon Hills Memorial Services.” Dean points across the street at a blue glass building. “And we just ran into Stiles, but he had no idea who we were.”

“How did we get here, then?” Cas asks.

Dean thinks about it for a moment, running his hand over his chin and the thin layer of stubble that’s starting to build up there. “You said there was something weird about the energy in Beacon Hills, right?” Cas nods. “Maybe it somehow messed with your powers and booted us here when you tried to teleport.”

“So how do we get back?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer for that one.

“We should start by finding some different clothes so we can blend in,” he says instead. “I don’t like the way these people are looking at us.”

Cas nods, and they slide over to the edge of the sidewalk, using the colorful shadows cast by the buildings to hide their unusual clothing. About halfway down the block, Cas spots a clothes store – a Ragstock, just like their own Earth – and they head inside, the little bell above the door jingling as they step through. All the racks hold outfits just like they saw the people on the street wearing.

Dean has a powerful love for pinstripe suits, so he walks directly for that section of the store, practically salivating. He finds a stunning, black, three-piece with tiny grey pinstripes, and he adds a red tie to his pile before he heads for the dressing room. Cas catches up to him before he can push the curtain aside, holding a dark blue flapper dress. “Dean, do we have any money?” he asks.

Dean checks for his wallet and looks inside but finds that he doesn’t have a lot of cash. Since he doesn’t know how long they’ll be here, they should try to save it for more important things. “Just grab whatever you think you might need, and we’ll wear them out of the store.” He whispers this in Cas’s ear.

With that in mind, he adds a red boa and a pair of shiny shoes to his loot then slips into the dressing room. He changes quickly and pauses just long enough to admire himself in the mirror, quirking a smile at his reflection. Damn, he looks good. His blonde hair is spiked up at the front, the red boa tossed jauntily around his neck. His pistol goes through the back of his belt, hidden by his suit coat.

Dean bundles up his old clothing and leaves the changing room at the same time as Cas exits his, and he has to stop to stare for a moment. Cas wears a dark blue flapper dress with black sparkles that comes down to his knees and catches the light, his tan trench coat over the top and one of those feathered headbands on his head. Dean tries very hard to force the heat out of his cheeks and looks away. “Uh, nice knees, Cas.”

“Thank you. I thought about grabbing a pair of heels to go with the dress, but I didn’t think I’d be able to walk in them.” Cas holds his other clothes pressed against his stomach.

Dean jerks his head towards the door. “Let’s get out of here before someone stops us.”

Together, they walk briskly out of the store, right past the bored looking cashier behind the counter, and they’re able to meld seamlessly with the crowd outside, invisible in their new costumes, although Dean wishes there weren’t so many people wearing suits so that he could turn more heads with his ensemble.

“What now?” Cas asks him.

Dean leads the way down the road. “You can’t zap us out of here?”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “Everything here is weird. I can’t tap into Angel Radio, either.”

“Let’s try to find Scott. Maybe he can help.” It’s a long shot – Dean knows this even as he says it because if Stiles didn’t know him, why would Scott? – but it’s the only idea he’s got.

So they weave through the colorful streets, following the familiar layout of Beacon Hills, and as they go along, Dean starts to see evidence of a shadow beneath the rainbow. Many of the people they pass carry strange glass and brass devices that look a little like pistols, and others have cross bows slung across their backs, carved out of a shiny metal, quivers of bolts at their waists. Sometimes, he sees people in long trench coats moving down the alleys and side streets that he and Cas pass, wearing hats with brims tipped low. The hair on the back of his neck prickles whenever he sees them, though whenever he turns his head for a closer look, the people disappear.

They enter a more residential part of the town, and here, the buildings switch from colored glass to colored brick, and Dean picks up the pace when they reach Scott’s street. There are far less people out walking here than there were in the business district, and the cars he sees parked in the driveways look like old Rolls Royces but without the actual tires. Dean wants one. Already, he misses his baby.

He hides his bundle of clothes beneath some bushes before he knocks on the front door when they arrive and steps back, rubbing his hands anxiously on his pants as he waits, Cas just a pace behind him. He’s glad for the angel’s rock-like presence.

Melissa McCall answers the door, the porch lights sparkling off the red sparkles on her dress and in the headband that binds her dark curls of hair. She cocks her head to the side when she sees them, no recognition in her eyes. “Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for your son, Scott.” Dean tries to sound professional rather than familiar.

“Why?” she asks suspiciously.

Dean’s mind works to come up with a suitable lie, but he’s not sure he knows enough about the way this world works. “My name is Dean Winchester, and this is my associate, Cas Novack. We’re with Cal Tech.” He prays that this world has Cal Tech as well. “We wanted to talk to Scott about a scholarship opportunity.”

That lights Melissa’s eyes up. “A scholarship? Really? That’s fantastic! Please, come in. I’ll get Scott.” She steps back to allow Cas and Dean into her house then motions for them to head into the living room as she bellows up the stairs for her son. Dean and Cas perch themselves on the battered, leather sofa.

Scott clatters down the stairs in a Beacon Hills Lacrosse shirt and a pair of sweatpants – the first set of non-formalwear that Dean has seen on this world. His black hair is longer than that of the Scott Dean knows, floppier in the front. Cas leans over to whisper in Dean’s ear. “He’s not a werewolf.”

Dean glances at him, shock running over his eyes, and then he looks back at Scott, and then he can see more differences between this Scott and the other. He’s smaller, his muscles less defined, and he lacks a certain sense of confidence and natural power.

Scott looks between Dean and Cas and then over at his mother. “What’s up?”

“These people want to talk to you about a scholarship opportunity!” Melissa tells him excitedly, tugging on her son’s arm.

“Really?” Scott’s eyes widen disbelievingly.

“Could we speak to your son alone?” Dean asks Melissa, and she nods, planting a kiss on Scott’s cheek before she disappears into the kitchen. Dean motions for Scott to sit down on the armchair across from the couch. He perches there a little nervously.

“Do you know who we are?” Dean asks.

Scott shakes his head, and Dean’s heart tumbles. “What university did you say you were from?”

“What do you know about werewolves?” Cas says bluntly, and Dean sighs.

But something flickers through Scott’s eyes, gone too fast for Dean to properly read. “Werewolves? They aren’t real.”

This isn’t getting them anywhere. “Do you know Derek Hale?”

Scott shakes his head.

“Stiles Stilinksi? Allison Argent? Lydia Martin?” He lists off a few more of the Pack members.

“I’m go to school with Stiles and Lydia. Everyone knows Lydia – she’s a character. And Allison did go to Beacon Hills High, but she died two years ago. I’m sorry, what are these questions for? What sort of scholarship is this?”

Dean elbows Cas in the side. “Cas, tell him about the scholarship.”

“Right, the scholarship,” Cas says, nodding. Dean tries to keep from laughing at his very serious expression. “It is a scholarship for students interested in studying mythology. Those people we asked about are other candidates we’re considering.”

Dean is actually impressed. Usually, Cas’s lies involve talking to cats or being psychic. He’s learning – Dean is so proud.

Scott cocks his head to the side, confused. “I’ve never expressed any interest in mythology. Why have you chosen me to consider?”

“We are trying to get more people interested in the field,” Cas says smoothly, glancing over at Dean to make sure his lie is okay. Dean nods just slightly. “We’re a slowly dying department.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott shrugs. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Well, that’s alright. We’re sorry for wasting your time.” Dean stands up quickly and holds out his hand to Scott, eager to get out of that house before he puts a foot in his mouth. Scott shakes his hand and then leads them to the front door, opening it for them and waving goodbye as they leave, subtly retrieving their bundles of clothing.

“Goddamnit,” Dean sighs when they reach the road, far enough away from the McCall house that they won’t be overheard.

“No one is going to recognize us here,” Cas says. “That’s for sure. We need to find someone who might have the knowledge to get us out of this situation. What about Derek? He’s the wise Alpha in the Pack, right?”

“Him or maybe the vet, Alan Deaton,” Dean agrees. “He’s kind of like the Pack’s Bobby. He’s closest to us, I think. Then we’ll head out to the Hale house.”

Cas nods in agreement, and they set off through the streets again, Dean wishing that he had his baby, because damn, all this walking is a lot of work. It takes them about a half hour to get to the veterinary clinic – a building with grass green glass and a sign on the door that reads open in vaudeville lettering.

He follows Cas inside and waits as the angel rings the little bell on the counter. The inside of this building looks much like the one he knows – wooden barrier, calming walls, slightly dingy waiting chairs, the light flickering a little overhead.

It doesn’t take long for the doctor to appear, a small compact man, goatee shaped into something resembling squid arms across his dark skin. He wears a white lab coat over an off-white shirt and suspenders, a bowtie knotted around his neck. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asks, wiping his hand on a rag he pulls from his pocket.

“We were hoping you could answer a few questions,” Dean says.

“Please come in.” Deaton pushes the wooden barrier open to allow Dean and Cas to pass through, and that familiar, disconcerting tingle runs down his spine, making him shiver all over. He glances over at Cas and sees that the angel looks a little nauseous. It’s comforting to have found something that hasn’t changed.

Deaton takes them to a back office, a tiny room half hidden by a bunch of filing cabinets. Stepping through the door is like stepping through the looking glass into Wonderland: swirled glass windows, a shag carpet on the floor, glass sculptures that twist into incomprehensible shapes. Deaton crosses to a cabinet at the back of the room and crouches down to unlock the lowest drawer. He pulls out a large wooden chest and brings it back to them, setting it down on a table, motioning for them to gather round.

Dean glances at Cas as he does as instructed, but Cas doesn’t know what’s going on either and shrugs. With a mischievous grin, Deaton spins the chest so it faces them then pops the lid open. Dean can’t help himself; he leans over curiously to peer inside.

Three separate shelves lift up when the lid is opened, each filled with different colored pouches or vials containing bizarre looking powders. Some sparkle, some suck colors in, some hold every hue imaginable, finely ground or thick and grainy. The bottom, too, is covered in pouches and vials.

“What’s your pick?” Deaton asks. “I’ve got just about everything. Dancing Daisies, Foiled Fancy, Unicorn Horn, Wolfsbone, Elven Trials, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I could go on.”

“What?” Dean says, puzzled.

“I don’t understand. Are these references to something?”

Deaton cocks his head to the side. “I thought you wanted to buy drugs. You said the code phrase when you came in, so I just assumed…”

“No, sorry,” Dean says, though he is a little tempted. “We actually want to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, of course.” The vet almost looks a little disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want drugs, too? I even have stuff that will affect your odd friend here.”

Dean glances sideways at Cas, trying to not be too obvious about it. “My odd friend?” he asks slowly, awkwardly.

Deaton rolls his eyes. “Please. I may be high as a kite, but I’m not blind.” He pauses. “Or maybe it’s the drugs that have opened my eyes. Could be either. I got drugs that will make you see all kinds of things. You interested?”

“Uh, no,” Dean says again. He’s beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea. It doesn’t seem like they’re going to get any useful information out of Deaton. “Do you know anything about, uh, parallel worlds?” He feels awkward as he says it, wondering if he should be so direct about it, but he doesn’t want Deaton to get distracted again.

“Parallel worlds? You mean like the multiverse theory?”

“Sure,” Dean says. He glances over at Cas to see if the angel has any idea what Deaton is talking about, but Cas shakes his head.

“It’s the idea that there’s an infinite number of worlds all stacked on top of each other, but every one is vibrating at a slightly different frequency so they’re kept separate.” Deaton opens up one of the bottles and takes a sniff, nodding in satisfaction before corking it and putting it back.

Dean doesn’t really understand what the vet is saying, and he wishes Sam the Brain was there to interpret, but Cas is nodding slowly as if it makes sense to him. “Is there a way to travel between them?” Cas asks.

Deaton shrugs. “Not that I know of. If there is, it would take some serious juice.”

Damnit, that isn’t what Dean wants to hear. “Is there anything you know of that might have that kind of power?” he asks carefully. He needs answers, but he also doesn’t want Deaton asking questions that he can’t answer.

Deaton squints and purses his lips, pulling a red, glass pipe out of his pocket along with a lighter. He sticks one end in his mouth and waves the flame underneath the painted bowl, inhaling deeply while Dean and Cas share an awkward glance. “I don’t know. I can do some digging though. See what I can find out. Gotta help you boys get home, right?”

“What?” Dean blanches.

“Here.” Deaton rifles through his wooden box and then stuffs two little pouches into Dean’s hand. He doesn’t elaborate on his previous statement. “Free samples, on the house. I’ll get a hold of you if I find anything. Toodle-loo, now.” And just like that, Deaton ushers the two of them towards the door. Dean lets him, too confused to do anything else.

Dean finds himself standing himself standing on the beside Cas with several packets of drugs in his hand, his mind whirling and unbalanced. “So that was…”

“Weird,” Cas finishes.

Dean sticks the pouches into the pocket of his suit, hoping that he won’t randomly get stopped and searched by a cop. “What now?” Cas asks. “Should we still go try to find Derek?”

“I think so,” Dean says with a slight sigh. “Derek is a powerful Alpha. If anyone knows something that can help us, it’s him.”

So they set off through the streets, still clutching their bundles of clothing, and Dean is glad that the street layout of the city is the same as back on their earth, because he doesn’t recognize any of the rainbow buildings, and otherwise, he would be totally lost. They reach the edge of the city and follow the highway into the woods. “I’m glad I didn’t go with the heels,” Cas says as they walk along the uneven dirt beside the road.

“Wouldn’t want to break an ankle,” Dean agrees.

Before long, they reach the long driveway that leads up to the Hale house, but it’s overgrown with weeds and hardly visible. A pit grows in Dean’s stomach. That’s not a good sign. He picks up the pace and follows the winding path until they break out of the woods and onto the Hale land. What he sees there makes him gasp.

The two-story house is a charred husk. The roof is completely gone except for a small piece in the back right corner, and the walls are blackened and broken, the pillars that marched across the porch turned to jagged teeth. None of the windows have glass, looking like dark, shadowed eyes, and the door hangs open, bowed in the middle.

“What the hell?” Dean says as they walk closer.

“It looks like it’s been this way for a while,” Cas says, head cocked to the side. There’s moss crawling up the bottom of the house and over the porch, and Dean even sees a small sapling breaking through the wood in the corner.

They mount the rickety, rotting steps carefully and step into the house. The floors have rotted away in patches, and most of the interior walls collapsed long ago, spilling crumbling drywall and wooden studs across the once familiar rooms. “Derek?” Dean calls. He takes a step into the house, and immediately, the floor cracks beneath him, his foot plunging straight through. Cas catches him under the arms as he curses, dragging him free before he can break his leg. Dean’s heart thunders as Cas sets him down. He likes the way Cas’s strong arms feel around him, and his face heats up like a firestorm.

He coughs awkwardly. “Uh, thanks.”

“We should get out of here. This place is a death trap.” Cas lets go of him – Dean is very disappointed – and together, they leave the dilapidated Hale house.

Dean kicks at a clump of loose earth on the driveway outside. “Well, shit. What do we do know? Do you think Derek’s…dead?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “But we should head back to the city. Maybe find a place to spend the night.”

So they do. Dean’s feet are tired and aching by the time they reach the outskirts of Beacon Hills, and they head for the center of town before they start to look for a hotel. They find a cheap, slightly shitty looking motel, and as they step into the lobby with its cracked linoleum floors and its flickering overhead lights, Dean is convinced he is going to be stabbed in his sleep if they stay here. They get a room anyways. Thankfully, the old woman behind the reception desk accepts their money and hands over a key with a giant, brass rectangle hanging off it.

When they head upstairs and open the door, they discover that the room only has one bed, small and sunken in the middle. Dean’s heart jumps at the sight of it, but he says, “We can go back downstairs and ask for a room with two beds, if you want.”

“I don’t sleep, remember?” Cas says. He drops his bundle of clothing onto one of the lumpy, leather armchairs beside the scratched table.

Dean throws his things down, too. “Should we go find something to eat?”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m starving, so let’s go.”

He sticks the huge key into the pocket of his pinstripe suit and immediately feels lopsided. It’s starting to get dark when they exit the motel, the sun sinking towards the horizon so that the colors sparkling off the buildings become muted and dull. There are fewer people out on the streets, and the ones that are out and about move purposefully and without looking at each other. Some of them have their hands tucked under their jackets, resting on the butts of those odd, steampunk guns.

Cas points out a pizza joint on the corner of the street and holds the door for Dean after they hop up the small set of steps. There’s only one other group of people in the restaurant, and it looks like they’re finishing up their meal as the servers start to clean up. The hostess looks up in surprise when they enter. “You’re cutting it kind of close, aren’t you?”

“What?” Dean asks.

“Curfew is in an hour,” she says.

Dean glances over at Cas then down at his phone. The clock only reads seven. “There’s a curfew?”

The woman looks a little shocked, and she straightens the hem of her black vest, the light glinting off the chain looping out of her pocket. “You don’t know about the curfew?”

“We’re from out of town,” Cas says.

“Did you check in with the consulate? They should’ve told you about the curfew.”

“Right, yes, they did,” Dean snaps his fingers as if he’s just remembered. “We just, ah, forgot since we’re, you know, not used to having a curfew. Is there still time to eat?”

“Sure. Take a seat.” The hostess gestures behind her at the empty restaurant. “Someone will be over in a minute.”

Dean and Cas pick a booth along the left wall, and Dean opens up one of the menus. He’s starving, a pit eating up his stomach. The waitress comes along right away, and he orders a medium, deep-dish pizza with sausage, pepperoni, and mushrooms along with two beers. Cas can pretend to drink one, and then Dean will finish it once he’s done with his own.

“We need to come up with a plan for finding Derek,” Dean says while they wait. “Can’t you use your powers to sense him or something?”

Cas closes his eyes and scrunches up his nose, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “No. There’s still something interfering. Maybe we should ask around. Someone has to know him.”

Dean drops his head to the table so that it thuds against the wood just a little bit. “My head hurts,” he groans. “What the hell is happening?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t banged it on the table, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Dean slowly rolls his head to the side so he can look over at Cas. “Was that…sarcasm?”

Cas looks innocently down at his menu.

Their pizza doesn’t take long to arrive, piping hot and smelling so good that it makes Dean’s stomach rumble. The waitress sets the plates down in front of them along with the two beers, and the pizza goes in the center. “Enjoy,” she says. “Just so you know, we’re going to have to ask you to leave at 7:45.”

That leaves them with fifteen minutes to eat. “That’s fine.”

“And here’s the check. Come up to the counter to pay when you’re done.” She sets a black folder down and walks away. Dean can’t help but watch the way her hips sway.

The pizza tastes just as good as it smells, and Dean wolfs down all but two slices. He offers Cas a piece, but he just gets a blank look and a slightly raised eyebrow, which is Cas’s versions of a sarcastic eye roll towards the ceiling.

At 7:43, they get a box and head up to the counter to pay their check, Dean doling out some of his dwindling cash. He doubts his credit cards will work on this earth. “Hurry home,” the waitress advises. “You don’t want to get caught on the streets after eight.”

“Why?” Dean answers.

She just shakes her head.

Dean and Cas exit the restaurant together, and Dean glances around the empty streets. He sees only two other people, and they’re practically running to get wherever they need to be before this curfew. “Back to the hotel?” Dean asks Cas.

“If there’s no one out and about, then there’s no one to ask about Derek,” Cas says. “We’ll have better luck in the morning.”

“What the hell is with this curfew?” Dean wonders as they walk. They don’t hurry, hardly even pick up the pace, even though it will take at least twenty-five minutes to get back to the hotel. Cas just shrugs. Dean can’t imagine it’s about anything serious; he hasn’t seen any signs of unrest on the streets and with all the drugs Deaton was trying to push onto them, this city has to have a thriving nightlife, though at the same time, there are a lot of people openly carrying all those odd weapons, and he remembers those people in the dark trench coats who disappeared down alleyways.

Eight o’clock rolls around, and then the streets are empty. Deserted. Dead. It makes a shudder crawl down Dean’s spine, and he finds himself sliding out of the light cast by the round globes hanging off the poles that line the streets and into the shadows near the buildings. Even the air feels different, like there’s something dark curling through the molecules.

“I don’t like this,” Cas says, and Dean nods in agreement.

“What are you doing out here so late at night, little boy?” It’s a woman’s voice, sly and insidious, soft and lilting as it shifts through the air as if on a breeze. It makes a slip of ice slide down Dean’s spine. He and Cas turn, expecting to see someone behind them, but the street there is empty. This damn city better not be infested with ghosts.

Cas nudges him then nods down a narrow alley where some kind of stand-off is going down, two people glaring at each other from about five-feet apart. Dean can only see the woman’s face. Her eyes are dark, glinting malevolently out of an angular face, pitch black hair curling down over her shoulders. She only wears a black vest over her bra, showing off her sculpted arm muscles, and her black pants hug her hips and thighs, her feet bare on the stone. The woman screams danger. It oozes from every relaxed line of her body, from the way she swings her hips as she saunters towards the man in the leather jacket, and from the way she trails one, long-nailed hand along the wall.

She’s a werewolf. Dean has spent enough time around other werewolves that he can read it in her posture.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the man says. He’s several inches taller than the woman and quite a bit broader, but he still backs up as she comes towards him so that there’s always five feet of space between them. His voice is familiar. Very familiar. “I just mistimed my walk. I’m heading home right now. I promise.”

But the woman keeps coming. “Not good enough, little boy. You broke the rules. Deucalion says you have to pay.”

“Come on, it’s only 8:05. Please, can’t you give me a break?”

The woman shakes her head slowly, a malicious smile creeping over her face.

Dropping the box of pizza, Dean strides forward and plants himself between them, one hand propped on his hip. “Is there a problem here?”

The woman looks him over, slowly, hungrily. “It’s none of your business, little boy. You’re lucky that I’m busy right now, otherwise you’d be in trouble for being out this late, too.” She runs one long, sharp claw down his chest, threatening to pop the buttons off his vest.

“You really shouldn’t call everyone you’re trying to threaten by the same insult. It loses its effect.” He pulls his gun from his belt and uses the barrel to push her hand away, smiling coldly at him.

“You’re adorable. That gun is adorable.” The woman cocks her head to the side. Her voice turns to ice. “Now please get out of my way before I rip your adorable face off.”

Dean lifts the gun so it’s pointed at her nose. “I’m glad you think I’m cute. Now back the hell off. These are wolfsbane bullets.”

That was obviously the wrong thing to say.

The woman stiffens, rage and confusion flashing across her face, then she snaps her clawed hand up towards his eyes. Dean flinches back, eyes closing reflexively, but the searing pain doesn’t come. He cracks his eyes open to see Cas standing in front of him, the woman’s wrist clenched in his fist. Her mouth drops open in surprise. With a casual flick of his arm, he sends her flying away down the alley, and she crashes to the cobblestones, flipping over and over with a shout of pain and surprise. “Get out of here,” Cas says in a bland voice.

The woman slowly climbs to her feet, eyes flashing red, and Dean tenses for a fight. He doesn’t actually have wolfsbane bullets. “You. Why don’t you smell like anything?” she asks Cas.

Cas lets his own eyes glow. “Leave. Now.”

Dean lifts his gun a little to emphasize the angel’s point.

“This isn’t over, little boys,” the woman hisses, spinning on her heel dashing off down the alley faster than humanly possible, disappearing around a corner.

“Again with the little boy insult! It’s really not that degrading,” Dean calls after her, rolling his eyes.

He turns around as he puts the gun away. Derek Hale stands behind him, looking scared, eyes wide. He’s clean shaven, which is a look Dean has never seen on him. It’s a little disconcerting. “Hey, are you okay?” Dean asks. It feels odd to be asking Derek that, and even odder is the nervous expression on Derek’s face.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Derek says. “I have to go.” He turns sharply and a little awkwardly and, ducking his head, runs away. Literally runs away. He turns around and sprints away from them, sharply turning the corner.

“Hey, wait! We need to talk to you!” Dean yells. When Derek doesn’t slow down, he jerks his head at Cas. “Come on.”

They take off after Derek, though Dean knows there’s no way they’ll be able to keep up with an Alpha werewolf on foot. But when they skid onto the first street, Derek is still in sight and he doesn’t seem to be moving as fast as he usually does, and after a minute, Dean and Cas actually close the gap between them.

“Derek, wait!” Dean calls. “Please!”

The sound of his voice makes Dean pause and glance back, and he trips over his own feet, nearly crashing to the ground. Dean and Cas gain another five yards on him as he finds his balance.

But they never manage to close the gap completely. Instead, they chase Derek out of the city and into the woods, headed in the opposite direction from his burnt shell of a house. Dean keeps calling Derek’s name, but the werewolf doesn’t look back again, too focused on running and trying to escape his pursuers. They see no sign of the woman with the claws or anyone else, for that matter. Occasionally, Dean sees curtains twitch behind the windows of the houses they pass, but they get twitched back again just as quickly. Cas runs beside him steadily and without seeming to exert much effort, though Dean is huffing and puffing, and his legs are starting to burn.

Once they hit the woods, Derek’s stride expands and smooths out, and he pulls ahead of Dean and Cas a little bit. The trees flash by, and the ground dips and swells beneath Dean, making his footing just a smidge precarious. “Stop, please, we need your help!” he yells again.

“Leave me alone!” Derek speaks for the first time. His voice sounds different that the Derek Dean knows. Less authoritative, less commanding.

“Our friends are in trouble! You’re the only one who can help!”

Derek cuts to the left, and Dean turns with him, rounding a broad oak tree, his heart pounding desperately. All of a sudden, his feet disappear from beneath him, and he finds himself rocketing into the air, head towards the ground. At least, he thinks his head is pointed down, but everything is spinning and tumbling so badly that he can’t really tell. The trees are a blur around him, Cas’s elbow in his face (or maybe it’s his knee), and something rough and taunt digs into Dean’s skin as he spins and spins.

Right before he decides he’s going to throw up, he’s yanked to a halt, Derek’s large hand grasping one of the thick ropes that makes up the net Dean is encased in, dangling several feet over the ground which, yes, his head is pointing towards. Derek pushes his disconcertingly clean-shaven face right up next to Dean’s. “Look I don’t know who you think I am, but you shouldn’t’ve followed me out here,” he says threateningly. Well, it actually sounds a little more like he’s trying hard to be threatening.

“We need–” But Dean doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence, because something slams into his head, and then everything goes black.


	2. Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?

 

Dean comes to in a cage, thick, iron bars slashing up his vision. Not that there’s much to see beyond them; just grey, stone walls that look like part of a natural cave, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He can’t see where the trail of wires leads. The cage is maybe ten feet by ten feet with a solid metal floor and ceiling, and Dean is free to move around within it, though he’s not sure he wants to because of the splitting headache. His gun is gone, along with his jacket, boa, belt, and shoes, the cold of the stone floor soaking through his socks.

Cas is in a second cage a few feet away, but his arms are bound behind his by thick chains, his hands trapped in large, metal cups that have strange symbols Dean doesn’t recognize etched around them. “Are you okay?” he asks. It comes out more like a groan because as soon as he opens his mouth, his head begins to pound.

“Yes,” Cas says, sounding tired. “Are you?”

“I think my skull is broken, but I’ll live. Where are we?”

“I’m not sure entirely. They threw a bag over my head when they took us out of the net. We’re somewhere underground.”

“Why didn’t you use some of your angel mojo and break us free?” Dean cautiously pulls himself to his feet, waiting for the world to swirl and blur and send him back to the ground. His head aches, but it’s bearable – he’s gotten enough other concussions that he’s pretty good at recovering from them.

“My ‘angel mojo’ is still acting strangely,” Cas explains, “and they had claws to your throat. Then they slapped these on me.” He rattles the cuffs that completely encase his hands. “I feel…odd. Disconnected.”

Dean walks over to the bars and tries to stick a hand through. He gets stuck at the forearm. The lock hanging off the narrow door looks heavy duty. “Well, we can’t stay here. We need to get home.”

Dean is worried about Sam and the Pack. They still haven’t figured out who the empusa is, and if she keeps feeding, she’ll just grow stronger and stronger. Who knows how much damage she could cause.

Somewhere to his left, a door creaks open, and Dean hears the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He closes his eyes to listen. Three pairs. All wearing heavy boots. He backs away from the cell wall, just in case they don’t like that, and sits down, fitting his face into a mask of nonchalance.

A woman steps into their cave prison. She’s tall and middle aged, with dark hair falling in straight lines down to her shoulders, her expression severe. Her grey suit looks worn around the elbows and is frayed at all the hemlines, and it seems like she’s trying hard to keep from appearing tired. Derek accompanies her, hanging towards the back with a submissive tilt to his shoulders, and Dean doesn’t recognize the final member of the group, a short man with a close-cut goatee and moustache and pale grey eyes that match Derek’s. The three of them stop about five feet from the cages and regard Dean and Cas.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Dean says. “It’s good to see that we’ve been given the platinum treatment.”

In the adjacent cage, Cas groans.

The woman glares at him. “You really not in a position to be glib with me.”

“Really? But I’m so cute when I’m glib.” Dean looks between her, Derek, and the other man, trying to figure out the dynamics. They’re all werewolves, that’s obvious, but none of them possesses the same sort of raw power that Dean has come to expect. The woman looks exhausted. There are bags under her eyes. Though the man wears an easy going smile, it’s obvious that he’s tense and on guard. And Derek – it’s so strange to look at him. He stands at the back of the group, eyes on the ground, shoulders still hunched over beneath his leather jacket.

The woman snarls and takes a step forward, red flaring through her eyes, but Dean doesn’t flinch. “You’re the Alpha?” he says, flicking his gaze towards Derek just briefly.

She notices. “Why are you looking at my son?”

Dean’s mouth drops open. He knows the story of the Hale house fire. Scott told it to him and Sam one night after all their secrets finally came out. He knows that Talia Hale died in the fire, along with most of the rest of Derek’s family. So how is she standing before him? Alive?

“We need help.” Cas rescues him while he flounders. “We heard you could provide it.”

“Heard from who?” Talia Hale is suspicious. Very suspicious.

Cas glances over at Dean. “Uh…”

“They saved Derek’s life, Talia,” the man with the goatee says. “And from Kali, no less. We owe them.”

“No, we don’t, Peter,” Talia snaps. “They’ve brought unknown trouble down on our heads.”

“So you would prefer that they’d just let Derek die?”

Talia flinches back, and Peter stares at her with earnest, sincere eyes. Derek hasn’t said a word. Dean watches him, searching for a spark of something he recognizes. There’s nothing. Talia regains control of her emotions, and she gives Peter an imperious look. She stabs a finger into his chest. “They’re _your_ problem, then,” she snaps. “I don’t want anything to do with them. If there’s trouble, it’s your ass on the line.”

Then she spins on her heel and stalks out of the cave.

Peter sighs as he looks down at Dean and Cas. “I’m going to regret this.” He rubs at his eyes. “I’ll go grab the keys. Be back in a minute.”

Then he walks away, leaving Dean and Cas alone with Derek. The werewolf shuffles his feet awkwardly and stuffs his hands in his pocket. “What is it?” Dean asks, figuring Derek will never say anything if he’s not prodded.

“How do you know my name?” Derek asks finally.

Dean glances over at Cas. He doesn’t know how much he should tell this Derek. Will the werewolf believe him if he says he and Cas are from a parallel dimension? Or just think he’s crazy? It’s impossible to tell. He wants to take the safer route, but he doesn’t have a suitable lie that will help them get what they want.

“It’s going to sound crazy,” he warns.

Derek makes a motion for him to continue.

Dean takes a deep breath and gives Cas another look. Cas nods just slightly. “Okay. My name is Dean, and this is my friend, Castiel.” He has a brief moment where he wishes he could call Cas something more than just his friend, and he shakes himself mentally. Now is not the time for these kinds of thoughts. “We’re…” Best just to come out and say it. “We’re from a parallel dimension.”

Instantly, Derek’s face goes blank. Dean bowls on so he can try to explain the situation before Derek’s brain completely explodes. “We don’t know how, but somehow we wound up here, and we need to get back because our friends need our help.”

“One of your friends is…me?” Derek puzzles out.

Dean nods. “We thought if we could find you, you might be able to help us find a way home.”

“Why would I be able to help you?” Derek asks. “I’m a nobody.”

“On our world, you’re the Alpha of the Beacon Hills Pack.”

Derek lets out a bark of sharp, disbelieving laughter. “Me? The Alpha? Come on. You being from a parallel world I can believe, but me as an Alpha? No way.”

“It’s the truth,” Cas says, but Derek just shakes his head.

Peter returns, bearing a wooden tray loaded with Dean and Cas’s confiscated possessions. He passes it over to a still shell shocked Derek so he can fish a set of keys out of his pocket. Peter approaches Dean’s cell and fixes him with a sharp stare. “If I let you out, are you going to do anything stupid?”

“No,” Dean promises.

“And your friend? Will he be a problem?”

“He can talk for himself,” Cas says. “And no, he won’t be a problem.”

Peter nods. He unlocks Dean’s cell first, and then Cas’s, stepping inside to undo the odd manacles around his hands. “Sorry about that,” he says as the last chain falls away. “Talia could sense your power, and she wanted to make sure you weren’t going to hurt anyone.”

“I understand,” Cas says, rubbing his wrists. He follows Peter out of the cell then steps over to Dean so that the two of them face Peter and Derek across the floor of the cabin.

“I’m Peter Hale.” Peter holds his hand out to them.

“Dean.”

“Castiel.” They each shake the man’s hand.

“Sorry about Talia. She’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“From who?” Dean asks. “And who was that woman in the alley?”

“Her name is Kali. She’s part of Deucalion’s Alpha Pack,” Peter answers. Derek hands their things over, and they start to get dressed. Dean is even given his gun back.

Whatever an Alpha Pack is, it doesn’t sound good, he thinks.

“Who’s Deucalion?” Cas asks.

Once again, they receive looks wondering if they’re from another planet, which, of course, they are. The expression is not as strong on Derek’s face because he already knows about the parallel earth, but he doesn’t say anything to Peter, following Dean and Cas’s lead.

Peter jerks his head towards the tunnel that is the exit to the cave and leads them over. A staircase leads up to a wooden door. “Deucalion is a nasty piece of work. He’s the leader of the Alpha Pack.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “An Alpha Pack? How does that work?”

“It’s a pack made up entirely of Alphas.” Peter twists the doorknob, and they step out of the tunnel and into a bright ray of sunshine. “Deucalion started it years ago, convincing other Alphas to kill the members of their Packs to absorb their power in order to join the Alpha Pack.”

“He tried to get my mom to join a few years back,” Derek adds.

They’re deep within the forest. The light comes through the trees in a green filter, and the ground, where it’s not cleared away in dirt paths, is littered with leaves and pine needles, springy underfoot. Three log cabins sit in a semi-circle, looking rustic and cobbled together, their edges dirty, almost tired looking. Dean recognizes Cora Hale. She’s talking to Talia and another woman who looks like a younger version of the Alpha.

“Did he burn down your house out in the woods?” Cas asks.

“How did you know that was our house?” Peter asks, but they don’t answer him.

Derek nods. “When she wouldn’t comply, he tried to have us all killed. We barely got out alive.”

Peter leads them over to the house on the left and opens the door to let them inside. The interior is as plain and sparse as the outside. It’s all one room, a narrow bed along the left wall, a wooden table and chairs across from it, and an old fashioned, wood burning stove set into the back wall. The windows are a little dusty, and cobwebs drift off the ceiling. “Take a seat,” Peter says, gesturing at the table with a tired smile.

“The Alpha Pack controls this town,” he continues once they’re seated. “That’s why there’s the curfew, why everyone seems so tense when you pass them in the streets, why they don’t talk to each other. They rule through fear.”

“They supply a lot of the drugs in town and a lot of the weapons,” Derek adds. His voice is much quieter and more uncertain than the Derek Dean knows. “They don’t even care about the money. They just like sowing chaos and keeping people on edge.”

“Does the vet, Deaton, work for them?” Dean asks. His stomach rumbles, and he ignores it, though he could really use a burger. He hopes this world has burgers. It’d be a shame if it doesn’t.

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, and even Derek shook his head. “Don’t even talk to me about that druggie burnout,” Peter says. “Son of a bitch cut and run when the Deucalion came after our Pack.” A though comes to him then. Dean sees it descend across his face. “Hang on, how do you two know about werewolves? We keep our existence very tightly under wraps.”

Dean looks over at Cas, biting his lip just slightly. “Back home, we’ve worked with the local Pack.”

“Where is home?” Peter asks.

“Lawrence, Kansas.”

Peter’s brow furrowed a little. “I didn’t know there was a Pack there.” Dean’s stomach drops. “But then, I don’t know most of the Packs outside of the West.”

Talia charges into the log cabin without knocking. “Peter, I need you,” she says. She gives Dean a slightly nasty look when she sees him and Cas. Dean cocks an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. “Now.”

“You two can stay here tonight, if you want,” Peter says as he stands.

“Thank you.” Cas smiles at the short werewolf. Dean is just glad he doesn’t say something along the lines of ‘I don’t sleep’. He doesn’t want to explain that one right now.

Talia taps her foot. Peter gives them an apologetic smile before he walks over to her and follows her out of cabin, leaving them alone with Derek.

Derek looks awkwardly down at his hands, large and pale on the dark wood of the table. “Thanks for saving my life. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

“Of course,” Dean says. “It’s what we do.”

Derek taps his fingernails against the table, his face dark and pensive. Finally, something of the Derek Dean knows. “You said on your world I’m an…Alpha. What happened to my mother?”

Dean doesn’t quite know how to say this. “On my world, it wasn’t the Alpha Pack that burned down your house. It was a woman named Kate Argent. Talia died. Along with most of the rest of your family. Cora survived. I think your uncle did, too, though we haven’t met him yet. I’m sorry.” Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s sorry for. It’s not this Derek’s family that’s dead, and yet…

Derek looks shocked, like he doesn’t know how to process the information. “Deucalion killed the Argents,” is all he says.

They leave the conversation there in favor of dinner. Peter doesn’t return. Obviously, Talia is keeping him busy. That, or she just wants him away from the two interlopers. Dean gets why she doesn’t like them, and he doesn’t hold it against her. He and Cas represent a threat to her family. They interfered – and insulted – a member of the Alpha Pack, and if this Deucalion figure finds out that the Hale Pack is harboring them, Dean guesses that things will not go well.

“Hey, do you two want to go to a party?” Derek asks them after darkness has fallen.  He has a glint in his eyes; it’s the most life Dean has seen in him since they met.

“A party? What about the curfew?” Cas asks. “It’s after ten.”

“There are ways around it if you’re careful,” Derek drawls with a wink. “Come on, the people of Beacon Hills throw wild parties.”

“I’m in,” Dean says. Maybe they should be focusing their efforts on getting home, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything they can do tonight. Perhaps going to this party will help them get the lay of the land, maybe even pick up some useful information.

Cas shrugs. “I’ve never been to a party.”

Derek gives him an odd look but doesn’t say anything.

They leave Peter’s cabin, and Derek looks around to make sure they aren’t being observed before they quickly make their way into the trees. He moves with purpose as he leads the way. “We don’t have to worry about the Alpha Pack in the woods,” he says, hopping over a fallen log. “They prefer to keep to the city.”

When the lights of the city come into view, Derek stops, and Cas stoops down to pick burrs from the hem of his dress. Dean checks his belt to make sure his pistol is still there. Just in case. “This way.” Derek turns to the left, and they walk a few more feet until they come to a small clearing, no more than two feet in diameter. Derek crouches down and brushes the thick layer of leaves away, revealing a metal hatch. With a grunt, he pulls it open.

Dean peers down into the dark tunnel. “Cool.”

Derek climbs down the ladder first, then Dean, then Cas, who closes up the hatch behind them, plunging them into darkness. Dean descends using only his sense of touch, feeling out each ladder rung with his foot before he puts his weight on it then doing the same with his hand.

It doesn’t take long to reach the bottom, and Dean hops off, stumbling into Derek. “Hang on,” the werewolf says. There’s a scraping sound, like metal striking metal, and then Derek’s face is lit up with a purple glow. He holds a crystal that’s about the size of his hand, and the colored light emanates from it, softly lighting up the narrow tunnel. It’s just enough to see by.

Dean turns to admire the view as Cas climbs down the ladder, but moves just a little too late and misses most of it. He’s disappointed. Cas doesn’t notice as he straightens his dress and trench coat, and Derek does, and he raises an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. Dean whistles and looks up at the ceiling.

The three of them set off down the tunnel. It heads straight forward, and Dean sees that the lines are obviously manmade. There are no marks or doors to mar the smooth stone until they’ve gone far enough that Dean judges they’re under the city. Then ladders and hatches like the one they descended pop up along with a few wooden doors, all marked with different symbols. Derek doesn’t tell Dean and Cas where they’re going, just continues to walk down the straight tunnel.

Finally, they stop before one of the wooden doorways, one bearing a symbol with three curving lines through a circle. Derek looks over his shoulder at Dean and Cas and gives them both a smirk. “Are you ready for this?”

“Ready for what?” Dean asks.

Derek just smiles and pushes the door open.

Music washes over them. Jazz, hot and fast. A trumpet blares brightly as it runs through a solo, accompanied by a walking bass line, a piano, and drums. A saxophone and trombone chime in occasionally to provide harmonic embellishment. People in flapper dresses or dress shirts and vests dance on the dark, crowded floor, sweating under the colored lights. There’s a bar all the way across the room from where they stand, though it looks like the bartender is selling more than just alcohol. Dean sees packets of powder similar to the ones Deaton tried to push onto them, and a haze of smoke fills the air, smelling sweet and spicy. Dean can already feel his thoughts going slightly fuzzy.

“It’s like the Prohibition,” he says.

Derek nods, a slight grin coloring his lips. “It’s exactly like the Prohibition except that alcohol isn’t illegal. There are escape routes, hidden passageways, and secret codes that can be used to warn others that the Alpha Pack’s lackeys are coming.”

“What do the humans call Deucalion and his people?” Cas asks. He doesn’t seem affected by the haze of drug smoke. Neither does Derek.

“The Alpha Pack,” Derek answers. “They just don’t know the true meaning behind it.”

The three of them meld into the crowd of gyrating bodies, the air instantly growing moist and warm around them. A woman steps up to them almost immediately, grinning a white-toothed grin, her eyes slightly glazed. “You guys interested in some drugs? I’m handing samples out for free as part of a promotional, uh, thing.” She pulls a little make-up bag out of her coat and unzips it to reveal tiny glass vials full of a red powder.

Dean thinks of the little packet Deaton gave him, still sequestered away in his jacket pocket, burning a hole. The rational part of his brain says don’t do it, dumbass, but then there’s the curiosity, the desire to know what it’s like, what it does, and goddamn, he’s been under a lot of stress lately. Then there’s this whole parallel world thing, so shit, he could use a little unwinding.

“What’s it do?” he asks.

“Dean…” Cas begins.

Dean ignores him, focusing instead on the woman.

“It opens your mind, broadens your senses. It’s the most amazing thing you’ll ever experience.” The woman holds one of the little vials out to him. “You boys want one?” she asks Derek and Cas.

Derek shrugs. “Why not? It’s a party.”

“It won’t affect me,” Cas says, and the woman shakes the third vial a little.

“You won’t know until you try.” She presses the container into his hand before he can say anything else and then disappears into the crowd.

“I thought werewolves weren’t affected by drugs or alcohol,” Dean says to Derek.

“Specially made,” Derek replies as he uncorks the vial and pours it onto his tongue.

Dean follows his led. The red powder tastes of strawberries and cream. The effects come over him instantly. The colored lights brighten, the hues becoming sharper, more potent, and the music of the jazz band is something crafted by one of Seven Muses, eye-opening, soul-touching. Dean’s eyes well up, just a little bit. And the people – oh the people! They’re beautiful! They’re perfection, dozens of living, breathing creatures doing nothing more than what makes them happy, their bodies moving against each other in a rhythm reaches all the way down into the rhythm of the earth. Dean generally hates people, but tonight, he can see no reason for that, no cause to hate these beautiful creatures.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, and even that small puff of air across his lips is akin to sheer delight.

Derek’s pupils have gone wide and black. He grins.

“I don’t feel anything,” Cas says.

Dean looks over at him, and a gasp escapes his mouth. A golden-white light radiates off of him, nearly blinding, and it pools in his eyes like swirling discs of gold, and his wings stretch out from behind his back, each feather its own masterpiece, all of them coming together to cast a glow across his face. Dean licks his lips, heat flashing through his body, settling in places that make him feel distinctly self-conscious though the drugs make it a thing to be celebrated rather than a thing to be embarrassed by.

“Cas, you’re beautiful,” he says.

Cas glances away. Dean thinks he sees the angel’s cheeks go a little red, though it’s hard to tell through the glow.

They join the crowd of dancers, finding their place within the rhythm as easily as taking a breath of air. Dean’s senses have become one. There is no separation between his body and the air and the people around them. The colored lights taste like fruit when he sees them – the reds like raspberries, the purple subtle, like grapes, the blues tart like blueberries. He can hear the sweat coming off people’s pores, and each one has its own, distinct tone, blending together to make a symphony like that video of the song the world makes when its map is put into Garage Band.

There’s no such thing as time, because what are seconds when you’re connected to the flow of human life? Dean sees threads of color floating through the air, twisting through the cracks in the wooden floorboards, drifting on the wind out the ceiling, different strands connecting different people. A purple-blue thread comes out of the underside of his left wrist.

Dean and Cas lose Derek at some point. Dean’s not entirely sure where or when exactly. Every nerve in his body is on fire. The wind sounds like birdsong, the moisture in the air feels like grass against his skin, and the heat coming off the colored lights tastes like baked apples and pumpkin spice.

With each beat of the music – which tastes like chocolate raspberry cake and crisp champagne – Dean sashays closer to Cas until he’s pressed against the angel’s chest, their hips grinding together, Dean’s arms around Cas’s neck. Each touch chimes, a drop of water hitting a placid pond, rippling, and he tastes mulled wine in the back of his throat. The light coming off Cas is deafening, and he sways in closer.

“Cas,” he murmurs. He likes the way the name feels in his mouth. Crisp, mountain spring water. He says it again. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

He can’t think of the words. Human languages don’t have the capacity to express all that he wants to express – he can see that now in the light of the drug. So he leans forward, and he uses his linked hands to draw Cas’s head towards his until their lips meet.

Dean thinks he has died, that the drug has overloaded his system and sent him into cardiac arrest. He’s standing on top of a mountain, buffeted by frigid winds that are broken only by a shaft of brilliant sunlight streaming down from above. Citrus floods his mouth, sweet clementines. The jazz band is still playing, the music mixing with the wind as it scours his skin.

All the feelings flood away abruptly as Cas breaks away, leaving him standing in the freezing wind with no sun for protection. He looks at Cas, puzzled, and Cas pulls back enough that Dean’s grip on his neck breaks.

“Cas?” he says. It doesn’t taste as good this time.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Cas asks.

The words slip away from him. They’re inconsequential. Dean leans in again – another kiss and Cas will understand everything – but Cas takes a step back. “Not like this, Dean,” he says. “Not when you’re high out of your mind. Not when it doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean wants to tell Cas that it means everything to him, but it’s too late because Derek is back, pushing through the crowd until he’s beside them. “Time to go,” he says. His pupils are back to normal. “The Alpha Pack’s hired goons are coming.”

Dean notices that the music is gone, silenced in favor of pulsing siren. All the party-goers are streaming towards the two exits. No one’s in a state of panic – Dean thinks they’re all too drugged up for that – but there’s a fast flow, like a river hurtling towards the sea.

Dean, Cas, and Derek leave by the same door they came in through, fighting against the press of people all going the opposite direction as them. Derek uses his broad shoulders and muscles to forge them a path, and when they finally break free, they take off running towards the ladder up into the woods.

Dean can feel every muscle, every tendon, every nerve in his body, yet he can’t seem to control them very well. Derek and Cas quickly pull ahead of him. He’s also distracted by all the…all the _life_ he can feel around him. He can see the bugs in the walls like glowing, little buttons. He wants to stop and touch one, wants to connect with it.

Derek finally notices that Dean’s not there (he’s running his hand along the wall and searching for the nearest bug to touch), and he hurries back to seize Dean’s hand and drag him along. “Wait, stop,” Dean tries to tell him. “I need to speak to that bug.” He’s not sure if he actually says this or if he just thinks it towards Derek.

He lets himself be pulled along because Derek’s hand sounds like Celtic music. Behind him, people scream and howl, and he flinches, wanting to clamp his hands down over his ears. He can hear ever scrape of the vocal chords, every fluctuation of pitch, each and every goddamn nuance of pain.

The ladder sprouts up in front of him, and when Derek places his hands on the rungs, he tastes copper and starlight on his tongue. He hits the outside, and he has to stop and fall down. The moon and the stars are watercolors splashed across the sky, and the darkness is more than just black; it’s blues and violets, and even a hint of dark maroon, and the air feels silken against his skin. He wishes he could take his shoes off and wiggle his toes in the grass, feel the pull of the dirt. He threads his fingers through the blades. His hands become one with the earth.

“Damnit, Dean,” Cas says. “Help me with him.”

Derek and Cas each take an arm and hoist Dean into the air. “Wait,” Dean protests in a murmur. “I need to talk to the earthworms.”

They don’t listen to him. They drag him forward, his toes catching on the dips in the dirt. “Not so fast, guys,” he says. “We’ve got…” He doesn’t know quite what they have to do.

This forest is alive. He knows that now. Not just alive in the sense that plants and animals are alive, but it has a soul. Dean can see the epicenter burning far within the deep mass of trees, a brilliant green color. Dean points. “What’s that?”

“Forest,” Derek says, giving him an odd look.

But a puzzled expression comes over Cas’s face, like maybe he senses something, too.


	3. A Very Daring Job Interview

When Dean wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t remember much of what happened the night before. His mind feels fuzzy and detached from his skull as the rest of his body sinks into the earth. He’s lying on a sleeping bag on the floor of Peter’s cabin, and as he looks around, the colors seem muted and dull, the air static. His chest cavity is hollow, and he blinks slowly, remembering the amazing flood of input the drug gave him.

“Cas?” he says, more like groans.

Cas stands by the window, staring outside, and when he hears Dean’s voice, he turns around. His eyes touch on Dean’s face and then slide away. Dean has a vague recollection of kissing Cas and then getting rejected, and his face flushes as he looks away as well. Neither of them says anything about it.

The mound of blankets on the bed stirs, and then Peter’s sleep rumpled head pokes up into the open air, eyes scrunched up in confusion. “What the hell time is it?” he moans.

“Too early,” Dean agrees.

“It’s 10 AM,” Cas says.

“Too early,” Dean repeats.

“Fuck,” Peter groans. His head disappears again. It seems Talia kept him up all night.

Derek comes through the door, holding cups of coffee and a bag of donuts. Dean gives him a nasty look. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

“I brought you food.” Derek chucks the bag at Dean’s chest, and it hits with a soft thud. The smell of pastries wafts up his nose. He takes a maple long john and throws the bag to Peter who has disappeared beneath his blankets.

“The fuck was that?” comes his muffled voice. Peter is not a morning person.

“Donuts.”

A hand appears, selects a chocolate glazed, and disappears again.

“Cas, you want one?” Derek asks.

The angel shakes his head. “I don’t need to eat.”

Dean groans internally and prays that Derek and Peter interpret that as ‘I don’t need to eat right now’. From the look on Derek’s face, he’s not entirely sure that’s the case. Peter, on the other hand, is not awake enough to care. Dean changes the subject. “So what the hell was in that powder last night?”

“You know, no one’s entirely sure,” Derek says. “That should probably worry me more than it does.” Now that he’s back in the Pack clearing, he’s retreated into himself, shoulders hunched in his leather jacket.

“Did you guys go out last night?” Peter asks from beneath the blanket, and Derek can’t tell if he sounds pissed off from beneath the haze of sleep.

“No,” Derek says.

An hour later, Peter finally extricates himself from beneath the blanket. During that time, he drank two of Derek’s four coffees, ate the other donuts, and insulted all of them. The number of barbs he and Dean exchanged was staggering.

Peter is upright by the time Talia storms into the cabin. “Oh, you’re still here,” is the first thing she says when she sees Dean and Cas.

“I’m like a koala,” Dean says. “I’m cute, and I’m impossible to shake.”

“And you sleep twenty-two hours a day?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Try three,” he corrects.

Talia Hale is not amused. “I want you two gone by the time the sun goes down.”

Dean stands up from the wooden table, setting down his second cup of coffee. He sticks his hands in his pant pockets as he saunters a few steps towards her. Instantly, her hackles rise. “We could do that,” Dean says. “Or we could help you with your problem.”

Talia’s brow furrows, and she glances at Derek and then at Peter. “What are you talking about?”

“Your problem with the Alpha Pack. Cas and I can help you take them out.”

Silence meets his words. Talia, Peter, and Derek all stare at him, and Peter’s mouth drops open. “How the hell do you propose to do that?” Talia demands. She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him.

“It’s what we do,” Dean says. “We hunt monsters.”

“Deucalion and his ilk are more than just monsters,” Peter says. He drinks the rest of Dean’s coffee and then Cas’s untouched cup.

“Trust us, we’ve faced worse,” Dean promises, thinking about Lucifer and the Apocalypse.

Talia shakes her head. “You’re just two men.”

Cas steps forward, and the lights fizz out, the room illuminated by the glow coming off him as the shadow of his wings stretch out across the wall. He lets it go on longer than usual, just to prove his point, and when the glow finally fades away, Dean is left with stars across his vision.

“What the fuck?” Talia says, stepping back until she’s nearly pressed against the door. Peter’s eyes as so wide Dean thinks they’ll pop out his head, and Derek is hiding in a corner. “What the hell are you?”

“I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

Dean groans and covers his face with his hands.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Talia says. “There’s no such thing.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Dean sighs. “I had the same reaction when Cas first pulled the ‘Angel of the Lord’ thing on me. But believe me – it’s the truth.”

Talia stares at him with narrowed eyes, the corner of her mouth screwed up in thought. “I don’t know if I can buy the whole ‘angel thing,” she says. “But you’re obviously something powerful.” She drums her fingers against her arm. “But why would you want to help us? You hardly know us.”

Well, not exactly.

“I hate bullies,” Dean says.

“And why should we trust you?” Talia continues. “We’ve only just met you, and it seems like you appeared out of nowhere.”

That sounds fairly accurate. “It’s true,” Dean agrees. “You don’t know us. You have every right to be wary of us. I’m not sure there’s anything that can make you trust us, but I promise that we just want to help.”

Cas sticks his hands in his trench coat. “Dean has been traveling across the country to help people with similar problems to yours since before I met him.”

Talia regards him, rubbing one hand across her chin, her dark eyes shifting from suspicious to just a bit wary as she looks him over. “I’d have to be able to deny any involvement.”

“Of course,” Dean says with a wink. “As far as you know, we’re just travelers, passing through on our way to, say, Los Angeles.”

Talia nods once, and before she leaves the cabin, she holds out her hand for him to shake.

* * *

At one o’clock, Peter, Derek, Cas, and Dean head back into Beacon Hills, using the main roads rather than the hidden tunnels. Dean’s clothes smell like sweat and smoke from the party last night, so he’s is wearing the black and green flapper dress that Derek saves for special occasions and a long black coat while his are being washed. He’s still getting used to the feeling of the wind on his bare legs. Cas, due to his angelic powers, doesn’t smell like anything and gets to keep his clothes.

“Some of the Alpha Pack’s human lackeys like to hang out a bar on 3rd Street.” Peter is their tour guide. He knows every street in Beacon Hills, and he leads the others through them swiftly, hands stuffed in the pockets of his grey pea coat. Before they left, he tucked one of those odd looking pistols – all brass tubing and glass bulbs around copper wires – into his belt – just in case. Dean wants one. He doesn’t know exactly what they do, but he wants one.

The bar on 3rd Street is named the Wolf’s Hound Pub, and it’s a dinky building made of dark, dirty wood, in a dingy part of town. The streets here are coated in filth and garbage, and Dean hasn’t seen one person travelling the sidewalks who doesn’t look, at least in part, sketchy.

“Do we just walk in?” Derek asks, eyeing the heavy, windowless door. There’s no open sign, and the windows in the walls are all so smudgy that it’s impossible to see inside and tell if the bar is occupied.

“You guys stay here.”

Dean pops the collar of his jacket. The flaps come halfway up his cheeks. It’s very satisfying. The he swaggers up the sidewalk and throws the door open.

Immediately, the five patrons and the bartender turn to glower at him, and an angry, suspicious hush falls over the room. The men and women all look the same – heavy leather jackets on over slacks or dark jeans and button-up shirts, and some of them even wear vests. Dean sees the tell-tale pistol bulge under each of their jackets. Serious expressions adorn their faces, hair slicked back neatly. “The fuck are you doing in here?” a woman with short, blonde hair demands. Her green eyes glitter maliciously at him from behind a pair of black, rectangular glasses. 

“Is it a crime for a man to want to get a drink?” he drawls. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and saunters over to the bar where the bartender has pulled out a massive, chrome and brass crossbow.

“It is in this bar,” he says.

All around him, the pub patrons pull weapons. Glasses has a long knife that she conjures from her sleeve. The man beside her has a scar across his cheek and a pistol the size of his forearm – it crackles with electricity – and then there’s another man with hair as long as Sam’s and a pocket sized crossbow. The last two people in the room are woman, twins. Their matching shotguns – powered by what look like a series of gears – are pointed right at Dean’s head.

Dean lets a sneer sneak across his face. “You’re all…cute,” he says.

These words are met by the intended response.

Everyone in the room attacks him.

Scarface is closest and comes at him first, firing one of the three bolts from his pocket crossbow. Dean swivels to the side, and it flies harmlessly past, and then, before the man can fire again, Dean rams his foot into Scarface’s kneecap with a satisfying crunch. Dean wraps his hand around Scarface’s neck and brings the man’s face down into his free fist before flinging him into Glasses. The two go down in a tangle.

Ponytail takes their place, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, flanking him. The three rush Dean all at once, but he’s ready for them. He knocks Ponytail’s electric pistol away, seizes a fistful of his shirt, and spins so he’s between Dean and the twins, preventing them from firing. He drills his head into Ponytail’s, eliciting a cry of pain, then he flips Ponytail around so he can capture him in a headlock and begins to squeeze, cutting of Ponytail’s air supply.

By this time, Glasses has regained her feet and is spinning her knife, though Scarface is in too much pain to put weight on his knee. Ponytail claws at Dean’s arm, but it’s futile, and eventually, he collapses, unconscious.

The instant Dean’s human shield falls, Tweedledee and Tweedledum fire their shotguns, the roar echoing throughout the bar. Dean flinches – no way to avoid this death – but the flash of pain never comes. Instead, Cas stands in front of him, blank faced. The bullets – or whatever the guns fire – are just gone. Everyone not unconscious stares at them in shock.

Dean darts past Cas. A single punch lays out Tweedledee before she can reload, and he sweeps the legs out from underneath Glasses, and she hits her head on a table. Ponytail tackles him, firing the electric pistol near his ear. Dean’s head is filled with ringing. He breaks Ponytail’s arm and wrenches the gun away as Cas touches Tweedledum on the forehead and sends her to sleep.

That leaves just the bartender. He cocks his massive crossbow and takes aim at Dean, but Cas is there before he can fire, and with a touch of his angelic finger, the weapon disintegrates.

Dean steps over Glasses and Ponytail and walks up to the bar, drawing his pearl handled pistol and sticking it in the man’s face. “What kind of weapon is that?” the bartender tries to sneer though his voice trembles just a bit.

Dean fires it into the shelves behind the man’s head, shattering several of the liquor bottles. “The kind that can kill you.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“My friend and I,” Dean pats Cas on the back, “are looking for work. We heard this was the place to come to find jobs that others consider more…unsavory.”

The man drums his fingers against the pitted bar and opens his mouth to say something, but Glasses opens her mouth before he can. “You two are something else. I might know a guy interested in men of your talents.”

“Who?” Dean asks.

She shakes her head. “That’s for him to say. If you’re interested, meet him at the Lion’s Den tonight at ten.”

Lion’s Den. That’s funny. Dean doesn’t mention that that’s after curfew. He figures that would get the offer rescinded just as quickly as it came.

Instead, he just nods and turns to sweep out of the bar with Cas close on his heels.

Peter and Derek wait for them around the corner, out of sight from the bar. Peter runs up to them as soon as he sees them, pale eyes filled with worry. “What the hell happened in there? We heard weapon fire.”

“Just a bit of a scuffle,” Dean says, shrugging. “I’ve got a meeting with the Alpha Pack tonight.”

Peter and Derek’s mouths drop open. “H-how the hell did you manage that?” Derek asks with something approaching wonder in his voice.

“He beat them all up,” Cas says.

“Cas helped,” Dean adds.

Peter runs a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky little laugh. “When?”

“Tonight at ten.”

“It’s a test,” Peter says. “They want to know if you can make it through the city without being caught.”

“At the Lion’s Den. Where’s that?” Cas adds.

“Across town,” Derek answers. “It’s not someplace decent people want to go.”

Dean cracks his neck and turns his face into a scowl. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a decent person.”

 

They spend the day at a café in the downtown area, using a few books Derek checked out of the library to pretend like they’re working on a project. The waitress is happy enough to keep filling up their coffee cups and supplying them with pastries.

Dean takes a sip of coffee and hisses. “Damn this coffee is hot. You know what else is hot?” He winks and points a finger gun at the waitress. “You.”

Flustered, the girl giggles and scurries away as Peter and Derek groan and drop their heads to the table. Cas doesn’t react. Just looks away from Dean, focusing on his untouched croissant (Peter forced it on him, saying he needed to eat. Cas wouldn’t have taken it otherwise).

Peter has been trying to get Dean to come up with a plan for his meeting with Deucalion, but Dean is a fly by the seat of his pants kind of guy, and he just shrugs and stuffs another piece of pie in his mouth whenever Peter brings the subject up.

“Is he always like this?” Peter asks Cas.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “His brother is the smart one.”

“Hey!” Dean protests.

They leave the café and start moving across the city at seven o’clock, wanting enough time to get into position before the curfew falls. Peter and Derek need to be far enough away that any werewolf senses can’t pick them up but close enough that they can interfere if there’s trouble.

When it’s time, Dean throws one end of his boa around his neck and pops the collar of his suit coat. Then he does the same to Cas’s trench coat. This sort of meeting is all about presentation.

Of course, they don’t go through the front door. That would be ridiculous.

Instead, they find a fire escape on an adjacent building and climb up it, leaping the short gap between the rooftops. There’s an access door just a few yards away, so Dean and Cas jog over to it, and Dean pulls his lock pick set out of an inner pocket, bending over so he can slide them into the hole in the knob. He’s not quite as good as Sam, but it still only takes him a second to pop the tumblers into place and push the door open.

He steps inside, Cas right behind him. Dean is counting on whatever keeping Cas hidden from a werewolf’s senses to mask him, too, as long as he stays close to the angel. The staircase is dark, lit only by the starlight coming in through the open door, and Dean feels his way down them until he reaches the landing. A corridor stretches out in front of him, and he stops to listen, eyes closed. The world is silent.

“You sense anything?” he whispers to Cas.

“There are three of them. I think. Everything’s still kind of haywire.”

They creep down the dark hallway, the floor and walls around them metal and unadorned. There aren’t any doors until they come to the far side of the corridor, and then they find one that matches the walls. It’s locked, too, but Dean’s picks take care of it quickly.

This door drops them off on a metal catwalk above open floor covered in polished tables and chairs and a giant, fully stocked bar. Like Cas said, there are only three people in the room. One is the dark haired woman they saved Derek from the other night. She sits with her feet up on a table beside a man with tightly shorn hair and an angry looking face. The final man is the one who worries Dean. He has blonde-grey hair, sunglasses, and a long, white cane, and he doesn’t look at the woman as she speaks, but power roles off him, greater than anything Dean has sensed in a long time.

The Alpha of Alphas.

Dean places a hand on the railing of the catwalk and jumps over, pushing himself off so he soars through the air towards the table of werewolves. He lands directly between the three of them, upending their drinks, his knees popping and protesting grotesquely.

Kali snarls and rears back, eyes angry, fist – no claws – coming up to protect her eyes. The man with the angry face lashes out at him, but Dean leans back just enough to avoid it without turning his head to look. The Alpha of Alpha is the only one who doesn’t move. He just wraps his hands around the top of his white cane and regards Dean with sightless eyes hidden by sunglasses.

“I’m here for the job interview,” Dean says in a low voice. He stands up on top of the table and straightens his coat as he casually climbs to the floor, collar still popped.

Kali hisses and lunges for his throat, but then Cas is there – just like he was the first time they met – and he catches her arm. Instantly, her eyes alight with recognition and maybe a little fear.

“Impressive entrance,” Deucalion drawls. “Did you rehearse it?”

“I prefer to improvise.”  Dean grins and stuffs his hand through his hair, one tooth sneaking out to bite his lip just a bit. This expression he has practiced, but Deucalion doesn’t need to know that.

He then remembers that Deucalion is blind and can’t actually see his perfect, sultry grin.

Kalie and the angry man can, though, and they give him flat looks, hands trembling in such a way that Dean knows they’re fighting to keep their claws and fangs in check. Cas matches their blank stares – even one-upping them with how unimpressed he is – and cocks his head to the side. Dean is so proud of him – and also slightly turned on, but he doesn’t dwell on that.

“My associates told me about your little audition,” Deucalion says. “And you managed to get in here without any of us knowing. Certainly impressive.” He tips his head in the direction of the angry man. “Ennis, call Aiden and Ethan back since they were so effective outside.”

Ennis nods and walks from the room, giving Dean and Cas one last glare and growl.

“Kali, sit down,” Deucalion says. “We’re not going to eviscerate our guests at the moment. Put the claws away.” A small smirk touches his lips at his little joke.

Kali sways forward a few steps, leans in close to Cas, and takes a sniff. “I don’t like them.”

“Sit. Down,” Deucalion repeats, a deep, authoritative growl filling his voice. His head turns back towards Dean and Cas. “You two. Who are you?”

“My name is Dean. This is Castiel.” People who only have first names are always more threatening and impressive than people with two.

“You’re new in town.”

Dean nods. “We’re looking for work. We heard you’ve got openings.”

“My associates told me about your little display in the Wolf’s Hound. That combined with your…entrance today has me…interested.”

Despite his blindness, Dean has the distinct impression that Deucalion’s eyes are boring into him, ears pricking and listening for any sign that Dean is lying. Derek told him all about the techniques werewolves use to read people – heartbeat, sweat, pheromones.

Luckily, Cas gives off none of those.

Ennis returns with the last two members of the Alpha Pack – identical twins with pugnacious noses, dense muscles, and leather jackets. They give Dean and Cas matching glares and whisper something to each other that Dean can’t make out. The three of them join Kali around the table, just a little bit of separation between them and Deucalion.

“Why do you want to work for us?” Deucalion asks, his hands folded over the top of his cane.

“Because we need money,” Cas says. “Because we have a very specific skill set that most employers aren’t looking for. We’d like to put them to use rather than let them be squandered.”

Deucalion tilts his head to the side, regarding the angel, searching for any sign that he’s lying. Of course, there is none. Dean leans one hand on the table and tries to look intimidating. He’s so proud of how far Cas’s lying skills has come, and he has to work to keep the satisfied smile off his face.

There’s a pregnant pause in the room. The entire Alpha Pack stares across the table at Dean and Cas, all the faces other than Deucalion’s holding various degrees of suspicious and maybe just a little bit of hatred. Most of the hatred coming from Kali’s direction.

Kali slides around to Deucalion’s chair, leaning over so she can whisper in the Alpha’s ear. Dean turns his head so he can hear a little better, but Kali barely bothers to keep her voice low. “These are the two who stopped me in the alley the other night.

“And we’re sorry about that. It was our first night in town, and we didn’t know the rules yet. We were bored and looking for a little action.”

Most of that was not a lie. He lets a smile to curl his lips, just a little one, to appear confident, because he’s fully aware that everyone in this room can and will rip him apart without a second thought.

“I like you,” Deucalion says. “You’re funny. Alright, the two of you are hired. Meet us back here tomorrow night at seven o’clock, and I’ll give you your first job.”

Dean nods to him. “Thanks. We’ll see you then.”

He turns, jerking his head to Cas to follow. “Oh, and Dean?” Deucalion’s voice stops them, and Dean looks back over his shoulder. “Use the door this time.”

Dean laughs and does as he’s told.

Outside, he and Cas hurry across the street, and when Dean sees that Cas is about to say something, he shakes his head slightly, pulling out his new burner phone to text Peter and Derek, tilting the screen so that Cas can read it, too.

_“Don’t come. Wolves following. Will take care of it.”_

This is only a suspicion. If Dean were Deucalion, he would send the twins, Ethan and Aiden, to follow them. After a moment, Peter sends a thumbs-up.

Dean pulls Cas down the first side street they come to, giving him a push to hide him behind the nearest shadowy dumpster as Dean continues on alone, hands in his pockets, one of which now holds his gun.

It doesn’t take long before one of the twins drops down in front of him, landing squarely, head bowed until he raises it as he straightens up. A second later, there’s a thud behind Dean, and he knows without turning that the other twin is standing there.

Dean doesn’t know which is which, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

So he just calls them Twin 1 and Twin 2.

“Nice night for a walk,” Dean says. He keeps his hands in his pockets because it looks casual and also because his gun is there.

“Not really.” Twin 1 isn’t the one who speaks. It’s Twin 2, from behind.

Dean turns around to face him. The Twins stand in the exact same pose, shoulders a little hunched so that they look bigger than they actually are, feet planted hip distance apart. Dean smiles at Twin 2. “That’s cute. I can do that trick, too.”

Right on cue, Cas steps out of the shadows.

Cas doesn’t say a word, so Twin 2 doesn’t notice him right away and doesn’t realize that something is wrong until Twin 1’s eyes widen, then he spins. When he sees Cas, he takes a rapid step back.

“See?” Dean says. “It’s not so hard. Why are you following us?”

“We wanted to make sure that you are who you say you are,” Twin 1 says while his brother glares at Cas.

“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t like being doubted, and I don’t like being followed.” Dean pulls out his gun while he talks and points it at Twin 1’s chest. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.”

“Deucalion wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t really give a fuck about what Deucalion likes.”

And then Dean shoots him.

Three times.

In the chest.

He knows it will heal.

Twin 1 stumbles back and collapses to the ground, blood staining his grey shirt in three circles, and his brother lunges towards Dean, bellowing in anger, but Cas grabs him by the back of his leather jacket and throws him down the alley.

Dean wiggles his gun as he walks towards Twin 2. “Do you want to get shot, too?”

Twin 2’s eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth, fists clenched at his side, but he doesn’t try to come after Dean. Dean waves his pistol at Twin 1’s body. “Take your brother and get out of here. And tell Deucalion that I don’t appreciate being followed.”

He steps to the side so Twin 2 can skirt around him and wrap his arms around Twin 1’s still bleeding chest. “We’ll leave you to it,” Dean says, and then he and Cas walk off down the street while Twin 2 drags Twin 1 away, back to the Lion’s Den and their Alpha.

Dean texts Peter.

_“It’s done. Meet at that abandoned warehouse on Hudson.”_

He and Cas don’t sense anyone else following them, so they make a direct beeline to the warehouse. It’s a big, hulking building that squats among all the others like a blemish, all metal plates rather than red, delicate brick. One of the windows around the side is broken, so Dean and Cas climb through, hopping down to the dusty floor.

Peter and Derek appear, stepping out from behind a stack of empty crates. “How did it go? We heard gunshots.”

“We got the job,” Dean said. “Deucalion sent the twins to follow us, so I shot one of them in the chest.”

Peter runs a hand through his short hair. “That was probably ill-advised.”

“Nearly everything Dean does is ill-advised,” Cas mutters.

“Hey!” Dean punched him in the shoulder.

“What? It’s true.”

Dean wonders what moment Cas is thinking about exactly. He still has the vague impression that he did something incredibly embarrassing the other night – like kissing Cas – while he was on that drug.

“How many times have I saved your ass?” Dean gripes.

Peter clears his throat, and Dean looks over at him apologetically, pulling a zipper across his mouth with a small smile. “We should get back to the forest,” Peter says, jerking his head towards a back exit.

The four of them get out of the city without a problem, and by the time they get back to the forest, it’s nearing three in the morning, and Dean drops onto his sleeping bag without taking his shoes off. He filled Peter and Derek in on the details of their next meeting on the way back, and he knows he needs a good night’s sleep (which for him, means four hours), before it.

Cas sits down on the opposite side of the room as him.

Once again, Dean wonders what he did wrong.


	4. Breaking and Entering is Fun

Around noon the next day, a message arrives for Dean and Cas from Deaton, carried by an odd, mechanical bird and deposited on the front step of Peter’s cabin. Derek delivers the cream colored envelope to them along with a bag of Chinese takeout.

Dean rips the envelope open and pulls out a piece of thick paper covered in a blue, cursive script. His eyes flick across the words.

_Dean, Castiel,_

_I think I may have found the answer to your problem. I had a dream last night after indulging in a little Moon’s Merry. I found myself walking in the woods, lost, until I stumbled upon a massive, sprawling tree. It was the biggest one I’ve ever seen, its proportions nearly impossible to believe even as I was looking upon it._

_I laid my hand against the trunk, and my mind became one with the tree. I saw that it’s roots stretched deep, through this world and into many others. It is the rope that ties the Universe together._

_Its name is the Nemeton Tree._

_I believe that its roots and power are connected to your world, and that if you can find it, you may be able to use it to travel home._

_Of course, I have no idea how to find it. I’ll look through my books, but I suspect that you’re on your own for that._

_Deaton_

Dean passes the paper over to Cas who skims the letter quickly. “That’s helpful,” Cas says once he’s done, tossing the page onto the table.

Once again, Dean wishes that Sam the Brain was there so that he could head to the library and research this Nemeton Tree while Dean prepares for his first night on Deucalion’s payroll. Maybe Peter has a laptop, though Dean doubts that the Nemeton Tree is something he’ll be able to find through a Google search or even in the mythology section of the library.

Peter and Derek dig into the Chinese food, and Dean leans in to grab himself a plate before it’s all gone. “Have you guys heard of something called the Nemeton tree?” he asks.

The two werewolves shrug. “Sorry,” Peter says. “Why?”

“Maybe the Alpha Pack knows something,” Derek suggests.

Dean quietly ignores Peter’s question. “Yeah, maybe,” he says instead.

Not for the first time, he wonders what’s happening back on his Earth. Have they found Elena yet? Has someone gotten hurt because Dean wasn’t there to help? Do the others even know that he and Cas are missing? And, most importantly, how did Stiles’ date with Derek go?

He shakes his head to clear himself out of his reverie. “We do have some business to attend to before our first night; Cas and I need some more clothes, and someone needs to show me where to get one of those really cool weapons.”

Peter cocks his head to side as he looks at Dean. “They’re pretty standard items.”

Dean really needs to stop saying things that incriminate him.

“They’re not that common where we come from,” Dean says, glancing over at Cas. He wants to know if other cities in this world have the same sort of open carry policy, but he doesn’t want to dig himself deeper into this hole he’s created.

Talia needs Peter today, so Derek takes Dean and Cas into Beacon Hills for their shopping trip. None of them have any money, so their first stop is a seedy bar with a beer-stained pool table. “What are we doing here?” Derek asks.

“Watch and learn.” Dean passes Derek his trench coat and suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

He wins $100 off the first man, $150 off the next, and $80 from the third woman, then leaves before anyone gets angry and decides to knock his teeth in. At the second bar, he wins a total of $200, and Derek stares at him with awe as they walk out onto the street again.

“How did you do that?”

Dean pockets the cash. “Much practice. Come on, let’s go shopping.”

They hit multiple stores, and in the end, Dean and Cas several different colored suits and dresses along with various accessories. Lastly, they walk into a weapons shop, and Dean’s eyes immediately light up, and he rubs his hands together.

He wants all of them.

Cas has to remind him to be reasonable.

He winds up with two pocket crossbows (with various different types of bolts, though he’s not totally sure what all of them do), one of those really cool pneumonic pistols, and a stun baton that reminds Dean of a light saber.

These purchases wipe out the last of his cash, and as they leave the store, Dean stashes the weapons about his person so that they disappear completely. He can’t wait to get the chance to use them.

 

At 6:30, Dean and Cas split from Peter and Derek. Peter claps his hand on Dean’s shoulder and draws him aside to give him some words of wisdom. “Listen, these people are dangerous. It’s more than likely that they already know you’re with us, and they’re just screwing with you before they destroy us all. You need to be careful.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean shrugs out from under the hand. “Dude, I’ve done this sort of thing before. Cas and I know what we’re doing.”

Peter awkwardly drops his arm. “I know, I know. It’s just that the Alpha Pack is a whole other level of dangerous.”

“We defeated the Devil,” Cas says blandly.

Dean groans and drops his head into his hands as Peter and Derek look at Cas, dumb-founded, mouths open. “You…what?”

“Cas,” Dean groans. “Not now.”

He seizes Cas’s shirtsleeve and drags him down the street before the werewolves can ask anymore questions that will take far too long to answer. “You gotta stop bringing up the whole Heaven and Hell thing. It’s really hard to explain.”

“But it’s the truth,” Cas points out.

“Yes, but now you’ve learned about lying. Sometimes, it’s okay to leave out information.”

Cas glances over at him and then quickly looks away again, eyes sliding to the ground so that Dean turns red with half-remembered embarrassment. “Cas,” he says, “did I do something wrong that night at the party?”

“You don’t remember?” Cas doesn’t look at him.

Dean shrugs. “I sort of do, but it’s all muddled up, and I’m not sure if any of it was actually real. Did I…kiss you?” The words almost choke in his throat, but he forces them out. He knows about the bet that Sam and Bobby have going. Maybe it’s time to prove them wrong.

It’s a second before Cas answers. “No.”

Dean doesn’t believe him. He remembers something like a kiss, remembers it being like touching the strings of life. “Oh,” he says instead.

They use the front door to enter the Lion’s Den this time. Dean’s already made the impression he wanted. Deucalion is the only one waiting for them inside the bar, sitting at the same table as he was the first time, hands folded over his white cane.

“No lapdogs today?” Dean asks, pleased with himself.

Deucalion doesn’t seem impressed. “They have other jobs to do tonight.”

“That’s cool.”

“Why did you shoot Aiden?” Deucalion asks, cutting off the last of Dean’s sentence.

“I don’t appreciate being followed,” Dean says. “And he annoyed me.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t shoot any of my other employees.”

“Deal.”

Deucalion stands up from his chair slowly, purposefully, and he comes around the table towards Dean and Cas, stopping when he’s just a few feet away. Dean nearly takes a step back but he forces himself to hold his ground. “There’s a party happening tonight. You’re new in town – nobody will recognize you as one of ours – so I want you to go, gather information on everything that happens – who’s there, who’s dealing drugs, what kind, and anything else you notice. Can you do that?”

“Piece of cake,” Dean says. “Where are we going?”

“Below Johanna’s Coffee Shop. There’s a tunnel beneath a statue of an angel on the corner. That will take you there.”

Dean elbows Cas before he can say anything about being an angel, too. “What time does it start?”

“Eleven. Be there at 11:45.”

“Got it.”

“Report back here at eight tomorrow morning.”

Dean bites back a groan an anguish. “You got it, boss.” He wants to take this Alpha down now more than ever.

Without further ado, Dean and Cas leave the Lion’s Den. The werewolves have gone home, so Dean and Cas head to a diner for a bite to eat before their first job. Dean orders the largest hamburger he can – bacon, onion shoestrings, a fried egg, and barbeque sauce – a large order of fries, and a beer. Cas, of course, gets nothing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean begins and gives Cas a glare before he can make a snide comment. “We need information on this Nemeton Tree, and we have a few hours before our job, so I say we break into the Lion’s Den and see if the Alpha Pack has any books on it.”

“Why do you think the books will be there?” Cas asks, fingers sorting through the sugar packets and color coding them.

“It seems to be their base of operation. I bet they have a lair underneath the bar.”

Dean’s food arrives, the plate heaping and steaming and filling his nose with such delicious smells. He digs in, the burger almost too big to fit his mouth around, just as it should be. The juice dribbles down his fingers.

Cas finishes counting the sugar packets and moves on to spilling salt across the table and counting the granules.

“Look, man.” Dean drops the burger to his plate. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Come on, I know you. Something’s wrong. You’ve been acting weird ever since that party.”

Cas forms his spilled sand up into a little pyramid, focusing on that rather than Dean’s face. “Nothing happened, Dean. I swear.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

This finally gets Cas’s eyes to flick up to Dean’s. “You told me I was getting better.”

Dean shrugs. “Not to people who know you.”

He immediately turns red, and to hide from the emotional resonance of the conversation, he stuffs more of the burger into his face.

“Nothing happened,” Cas promises again, and Dean has no choice but to accept his answer.

“Alright, sorry I asked,” he says.

He finishes his meal in silence, pays, and he and Cas leave the diner, heading back towards the Lion’s Den. They stop into the shadows on the opposite side of the street. “I don’t sense anyone,” Cas says. “And I don’t sense any wards, but everything is still a little…hard to grasp.”

Dean nods. “Let’s do this now then.”

They skirt around the side of the building, and Dean jimmies the back door open. Shadows crawl out of the building to meet them, accompanied by a rush of dust motes that fly away from them as they step into the hallway.

Dean knows just how to find hidden doors, so he leads Cas into the main room of the Lion’s Den and the space behind the bar. He spots an old fashioned bottle, covered in dust but for a few fingerprints around the neck. Dean reaches out and pulls on it.

A section of the bar slides open to reveal a stone staircase. “You sense anything down there?” Dean asks Cas.

“It’s warded.”

“Damn.”

Mini crossbow drawn, Dean leads the way down the stairs, ears strained and breathing quiet. The staircase deposits them in a wide open room before too long, and the layout mirrors the bar above. Training equipment dominates the far side of the floor, and there’s a gleaming kitchen to Dean’s left, and to the right, a state of the art entertainment system complete with wide, leather couches. Bookshelves ring all the available wall space, stuffed full of leather bound tomes, battered paperbacks, and colorful hardcover books. Dean sees that one shelf is made up entirely of trashy romance novels, and he wonders whose those are.

“Well, we’d better get started,” Dean sighs.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Cas asks.

“Uh…books mentioning trees? Books on nature magic. Maybe even books on Celtic mythology – it sounds like something that would be Celtic.”

Dean might be way off, but it’s all he can think to go off.

Dean and Cas get to work, skimming over the titles on the spines of the books. Dean doesn’t have the same knowledge of languages as Sam does, so he hands the books in foreign languages to Cas to translate. They work hard to make sure everything remains the way they found it, but there’s so much dust that Dean just knows they’ve left some kind of mark.

They’re running out of time by the time Cas finds what they’re looking for. They need to leave in thirty seconds to get to the party at the assigned time. Dean pulls a six-inch-thick book off the shelf with a stylized Celtic Tree of Life burned into the leather cover. The text is Gaelic, so Dean passes it over to Cas for translation as he turns to another book.

“I’ve got it,” Cas says, and Dean jumps.

“What? Really?” Dean hurriedly shoves his tome back into its slot and rushes over to Cas to peer over his shoulder at the book.

Cas runs his finger over a bolded line of text. “Right here. The Nemeton Tree.”

Dean checks the time and curses. “We’ve got to go now. Just…” he thinks wildly, “rip the pages out and put the book back.”

“But then they’ll know we were here,” Cas says.

“What’s the likelihood that they’re going to look in this exact book in the next few days?” Dean rips the pages out for Cas then shoves them in the deep pocket of the angel’s trench coat.

As Dean starts for the staircase, Cas puts the book away and brushes his fingerprints out of the dust. Back on the upper level, Dean pushes the old fashioned bottle back into place, and the trap door in the bar swings back into place.

Dean isn’t worried about walking freely through the streets after curfew now that they’re in the Alpha Pack’s employ. Before long, they reach Johanna’s Coffee Shop, and Dean spots the angel statue Deucalion told them about. It’s quick work to move it away from the entrance to the passageway, then Cas drops through first, and Dean follows, working the statue back into place.

They’re left in near darkness. A couple of crystals like the one Derek had at their first party dot the walls, leading them down a corridor to a bright blue door. Cas opens the door for Dean, and Dean’s shoulder brushes his chest as he walks by, a jolt racing through him at the contact.

The party is already in full swing when they close the door behind them. Dean recognizes a few people from the last party he and Cas went to (only the people he met before he took that drug), but none of them seem to pay him any mind. That’s fine – that’s better, actually.

Dean and Cas meld into the crowd. They do as they’re told. They mark the faces of the people dealing drugs – Dean sees Deaton in a corner (it’s hard to tell if he’s dealing or just high as a kite), but they don’t acknowledge each other – and they listen in on the buys so they learn which types of drugs are being sold, noting as well any faces that stand out from the crowd. There aren’t many, just a man standing in the corner with his arms folded and one leg propped up against the wall, and a woman in a sleek grey suit watching the doors, an earpiece in her ear. Dean palms his phone and takes a clandestine photo of both of them. They go into a file of potential allies.

Dean and Cas remember to dance, just so that they blend in, as they move around the party. Dean is overly conscious of everything he does with his body. The way he holds his arms. The way he moves his hips. How close he gets to Cas. Any brush of contact between them. The way he even looks at Cas.

Eventually, he finds himself at the bar. He downs three shots of some kind of unknown liquor that takes of lemon and wildflowers in quick succession and then does another two for good measure. The cute bartender grins at him and winks, and any other day, Dean would be totally up for a good flirt, but he’s just not feeling it tonight. Mostly because Cas has just appeared and is leaning against the bar behind him.

“There’s something wrong,” Cas says. He says it as a statement, but there’s something questioning in his tone.

“With the party?” Dean asks, though he’s fairly sure that’s not what Cas means. He wants another shot, but the room is already starting to blur and spin. Wow, this shit’s a lot stronger than booze is back home. He needs to get himself a bottle before he and Cas return.

“No, with you,” Cas corrects.

Dean orders two more shots and drinks them both. “There’s nothing wrong.”

Cas looks pointedly at his seven empty shot glasses.

“Alright, maybe,” Dean says, he can hear his words slurring. “But you’ve been acting weird, too.” Now that the booze is loosening up his brain, memories from his drug-addled night flow back, clearer than even. He remembers kissing Cas for sure this time, remembers the feeling of it being absolutely right, like standing on a mountain. He also remembers Cas pushing him away – rejecting him, saying that it wasn’t real, not with him on drugs.

He can’t look Cas in this eyes. The booze is the only reason he can speak. “I know I kissed you. I know you pushed me away.” He doesn’t say rejected though that’s the word he wants to use.

“You were high. It didn’t mean anything.”

The words ‘But it did’ shrivel up in Dean’s throat.

Instead, he pulls the two pouches of drugs Deaton gave him from his inside jacket pocket and slides one across the bar to Cas, keeping the other for himself. Cas looks down at it and then up at Dean. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Look, I can’t explain it. The drugs here are different than the ones back home. They make things clearer, purer. Just…try it.”

He feels bad trying to push Cas into doing drugs, but he can’t think of any other way to get Cas to understand what happened the other night, what it meant. He certainly can’t use his words. That would be ridiculous.

Cas picks the pouch up and raises it to eye-level, staring into the white powder as if it holds the answer. Hey, maybe it does, Dean thinks. “Okay,” Cas says.

“R-really?” His voice cracks a bit before he can stop it. “Bartender? Do you know how we take this?”

The bartender looks the pouch over. “Looks like Angel’s Breath. There are a few ways to take it. I’d recommend dissolving it in water.” The bartender hands them each a small glass of water and a smile before heading off to help another customer.

“Bottom’s up,” Dean says. He and Cas clink glasses then toss their contents back.

The liquid drugs taste like pink Starbursts, and they make the water a little fizzy. He has a brief moment when he wonders if he should’ve taken the drugs after having had seven shots, but it’s too late now, and already, he can feel the effects washing over him, similar to the drugs he had at the first party.

His mind slips out of his body. The music, that was electronic and techno before, is now one long stream of sound, the notes and tones indistinguishable from each other yet distinct at the same time. He looks over at Cas, and there’s that impossibly bright glow emanating out of his eyes and around his head. Behind the light, Dean can see that Cas’s pupils have gone wide.

A beatific smile creases the angel’s face, and Dean is glad. This is what he was trying to talk about but couldn’t find the words for – this feeling of being connected to everything, of experiencing the world as a collective whole.

Then Cas does something Dean never could have predicted, not even with the eye-opening drug coursing through his veins. Cas leans forward, wraps his large hands around Dean’s face, and kisses him.

This time it is not just the lonely mountain and the blazing sun; it is a raging storm and a bubble of purest gold all at once. Dean’s hands find Cas’s hair. Their teeth clack. Their tongues explore. Dean thinks he’s going to burn up, dissolve to ash. It’s amazing.

They only stop because someone bumps into them from behind, and Dean’s back slams into the edge of the bar. Cas’s nose bumps into his, and with a jolt, they break apart, eyes locked on the other pair.

“Wow,” Cas breathes.

“See, I told you it meant something.”

“Do you want to go find a room?”

Dean’s mouth drops open, and it’s all he can do to remember how to control his body and force his head to nod.


	5. Coup de Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I'M TIPSY WEE IT'S FUN GODDAMN I MADE THOSE RUM AND COKES REAL STRONG WOW ALSO GETTING PRINGLES OUT OF A CAN WHILE DRUNK IS REAWLLY HARD SO IS TYPING I'M SORRY FOR THIZ I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN ENOJYING THIS INTERLUDE FIC SO FAR NANOWRIMO IS OVER SO I'M GETTING BACK TO THE MAIN FIC HAVE FUN KIDS PLEASE FEEL FREEE TO LEAVE COMMENTS IM SORRY FOR THE CAPS LMAO

Dean and Cas work for the Alpha Pack for the next month, collecting information on the parties, running intimidation on people who don’t pay their dues, spying on others, breaking into restaurants to either steal things or plant false evidence. They do a lot of nefarious things that Dean is not proud of, but he tells himself it’s for a good cause because they’re learning what they need to take the Alpha Pack down from the inside.

They continue to live in Peter’s cabin in the woods, though it’s a little hard to hide their comings and goings from the city, and Dean spends a lot of time lying to Deucalion. It seems like he and Cas have gained the Alpha Pack’s trust, and Dean wonders what it says about his character that he could gain the trust of people as despicable as Deucalion, Kali, and the others.

Talia Hale trusts him and Cas, too, though she doesn’t interact with them very much to maintain plausible deniability. Dean and Cas haven’t told anyone that they’re…whatever they are, but he’s pretty sure everyone knows anyways. Peter gave him a high five the morning he returned after the first job the two of them did for the Alpha Pack.

Dean and Cas spend a lot of time sneaking off into the woods to make out. They’re not terribly subtle about it.

“This is the most useless piece of paper ever,” Dean groans, throwing the page with Cas’s translation of the Nemeton Tree article down for the twentieth time.

“Don’t crinkle my good work.” Cas picks up the paper before Dean can set a beer bottle down on top of it.

“It doesn’t tell us anything!”

Cas reads the translation aloud:

“The Nemeton Tree is an ancient Celtic spirit, crafted by the druids to strengthen the land and the ley lines that run through it. Over the years, the Nemeton took on a consciousness of its own, separate from the powers that gave birth to it. Its own power grew as more and more people began to worship it.

“The full extent of the Nemeton Tree’s power is unknown; neither is its location. Modern day druids and emissaries have searched the Celtic lands for years, hoping to find the tree and so make use of its power. None have succeeded. Some speculate that the Nemeton Tree has the ability to travel along the ley lines, to transfer its consciousness from tree to tree wherever the ley lines intersect.”

“See? Totally useless!” Dean drops his head to Peter’s kitchen table with a thud. “We can’t go to Ireland to look for the damn thing!”

“I mean, not necessarily.” Cas is not very good at the whole reassuring thing. “The article says it might be able to travel.”

“Yeah, but I’ve studied ley lines. I know their locations. There isn’t an intersection anywhere near here.”

“Maybe not in our world. But what if this world has a different ley line layout?”

Dean’s mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas. His mind fritzes out for a moment. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t we think of that sooner?”

Cas shrugs. “Because Sam is the smart one.”

“Well, now you’re the genius.” Dean leans across the table and kisses Cas, long and lingering.

“Yes, I win!”  Derek cheers, startling Dean and Cas so that they break away.

Dean chucks a wad of paper at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Peter and I made a bet the instant after we met you,” Derek says as he catches the paper ball, “about whether or not you two were an item. And now I have proof. Peter owes me $20 now.”

“Only $20? I’m offended,” Dean says.

Derek shrugs. “We don’t have a lot of money.”

“Do you know anything about ley lines?” Cas asks.

Derek’s lips purse as he pulls a chair out and sits down, propping one foot up on the table. He shakes his head. “Sorry. Not familiar with those. What are they?”

“Energy lines that run through the earth, typically converging and intersecting at sacred sites around the world,” Dean explains. Oh God, he sounds like a nerd like Sam. “We think they have something to do with finding the Nemeton Tree.”

“Sorry, can’t help you,” Derek says. “I’d talk to Peter or Talia.”

“Maybe Deaton knows,” Cas suggests.

Peter and Talia are both out for the day, so they go with Cas’s idea. Deaton is on the Alpha Pack’s oh-no-no list, so they wrap boas around the lower halves of their faces and pull their hats down. The brisk autumn wind runs right through the sheer tights Dean wears under his dress, and he pulls his leather jacket a little tighter.

They go in through the back door so no one sees them who might report back to the Alpha Pack. “Deaton?” Dean calls. Of course, the clinic is dark and smells of drugs.

Deaton appears out of his office in a cloud of smoke, coughing and waving his hand in front of his face. He wobbles a little as he walks. “Oh hey, you crazy parallel earth cats.”

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, though he’s not totally sure he wants to know.

“Trying to concoct a new drug. It’s not going well. Nearly blew myself up.”

“…Okay.” Dean glances over at Cas with an eyebrow raised. Cas shrugs, smirking. “Listen, we were wondering if you had any books on ley lines.”

“Look at that, you crazy cats finally got together congrats!”

Dean turns bright red, and distracts himself by wondering what Deaton’s current obsession with the phrase ‘crazy cats’ is about. Cas stares pointedly at the ground. “Uh…Ley lines?” Dean repeats.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Come on into my office.”

Dean wrinkles his nose at the smell of rancid herbs coming out of the open door. “No thanks.”

Deaton glances back at the cloud of smoke, nodding a couple of time. “Smart choice. Give me one second.”

The vet disappears, thankfully closing the door behind him. Dean turns to Cas and casually slips his hand into Cas’s warm fingers. “Do you think Deaton does any actual vet work here?”

“It does not appear so.”

Deaton reappears in a fresh rush of smoke, carrying a book that is as thick as Dean’s two fists pressed together. Deaton passes it over, and it’s so heavy Dean nearly drops it. “Oh fuck,” he groans.

“Have fun with that, you crazy cats.”

“What the hell is with the whole ‘crazy cats’ thing?” Dean asks.

“I’m thinking of using it as a name for a new drug,” Deaton answers. “So I’m giving it a test drive. What do you think?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess it’s alright. What do you think, Cas?”

“Why is the cat crazy?”

Deaton’s face goes blank, head cocked to the side. “Damn, I never thought of that.”

They lose him to the question; Deaton wanders back into his office, muttering quietly to himself, without saying another word to them.

“It’s always an experience talking to that man,” Dean says and shakes his head, hefting the book a little higher in his arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

They take the book back to Peter’s cabin to read it. Derek is sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading a paperback when Dean drops his tome on the table, and it makes a thud that echoes around the room. Derek jumps violently and nearly tips off his chair. “Jesus – what the hell?”

“Just some light summer reading,” Dean says drily.

“What’s your heavy reading look like?” Derek asks.

“Dean was being facetious,” Cas says, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yes, thank you, Cas.”

“Happy to help, Dean.”

Dean groans.

“Do you have a map of the area?” he asks to change the subject.

“Sure. There’s one in that cabinet over there.” Derek points towards the kitchen.

Dean hops up and rifles through the aforesaid cabinet until he comes up with a folded, regional map and a black pen. When he gets back to the table, he flips the massive book open, searching and searching through it until he finds maps that match the California region.

Three hours later, he has the answer. “There.” He slams the pen down on the map. Five ley lines intersect not four miles from the little werewolf village. It’s the only five-point intersection in the entire world. “And you were right, Cas. These ley lines are nothing like the ones back home. That was really smart.”

Cas literally starts glowing.

But Dean’s burner phone dings before they can leave to investigate. “Shit, Deucalion needs us,” Dean says after he reads the message. His skin crawls. As much as he enjoys the drugs and the weapons (his electric pistol is awesome – it can tase people or kill them or do any number of things, and don’t even get him started on his crossbow because that thing is just too cool for school), he wants to go home. He really wants to go home. The Derek here is nice, but he’s not Dean’s Derek – the grumpy, surly Alpha who can shred a person with one well placed, sarcastic comment, and he misses Stiles, Scott, and all the others, and he even misses – dare he admit it – Sam, though Dean is not about to tell Sam that, because Sam would never let him live it down. But most of all, he misses his baby. He hasn’t driven in weeks, and it feels like he’s missing a part of himself.

Dean and Cas grab their things and head into town, meeting Deucalion at the Lion’s Den as instructed. They go in through the front door – Deucalion has been very clear that they not break any more windows or come crashing in through the roof again. Dean thinks this is no fun all all, but he also doesn’t want to get ripped in half by the Alpha.

The whole Pack is there, all except for Twin 1 who Dean hasn’t seen since he’d shot the wolf in the chest. Dean knows he’s still alive though – Deucalion is just keeping him under wraps so Dean and Cas won’t get suspicious, or whatever.

“What’s up, boss-man?” Dean asks, dragging out a chair and plopping himself down, slinging his legs up onto the table, much to Kali’s ire. She growls at him, and Dean sees her eyes flash red. Every time she interacts with Dean and Cas, her control slips a little more. It’s mostly Dean’s fault – he enjoys pushing her buttons. It’s just so damn easy.

Deucalion’s hands are wrapped around the head of his cane. “We have some friends coming into town next week, and we need to prepare for their arrival, so I’m putting you in charge of things around town for a while.”

“Really?” Even Dean is surprised by this turn of events, and he shoots a glance towards Cas. “You’d trust that with us?”

“We’re kindred spirits, you and I,” Deucalion says a smile curling across his face.

Dean isn’t sure what he thinks of that, doesn’t think he wants to be considered a kindred spirit with a bloodthirsty, murderous Alpha werewolf.

So he forces a grin, one that’s devilish and cocksure, and he says, “Yeah, no problem. We can take care of whatever you need.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Deucalion smiles and nods to Ennis, the angry looking man whom Derek has yet to hear speak. Ennis slides a Moleskin notebook across the table to Dean. “This is a list of everything you need to do for the next week. Follow it diligently.”

Dean takes the notebook but doesn’t open it right away. “We will,” he says. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you, boys.” Deucalion waves them away, and Dean stands, slipping the notebook into an inside pocket of his coat. He and Cas head for the door, but Kali slips out of her seat and follows them, gliding across the floor with liquid grace. Her hand shoots out and slams the door shut in Dean’s face just after he pulls it open.

She sticks her face right up next to his. “Don’t screw this up, little boy,” she growls, and this time, her eyes really do glow red, just for the briefest of moments. Dean leans in closer so their noses are almost touching.

“Your little trick really isn’t all that scary, sweetheart.” He quirks a smile at her as Cas reaches around her arm to open the door, and the two of them sweep out of the Lion’s Den and into the street.

 

Dean and Cas stop at a diner for lunch and to read the little notebook that Ennis gave them. “Jesus Christ, there’s a lot here,” Dean says, flipping through the pages. Every scrap of the Moleskin is filled, and the handwriting is miniscule, crawling through every inch of white space, even, occasionally, containing helpful little diagrams.

“Dean,” Cas says, “next weekend is the full moon.”

Dean’s mouth drops open as he looks over at Cas. “And the friends they’re having over – more werewolves?”

“Or something worse,” Cas agrees. “We have to stop them before these new players arrive.”

Dean nods, and they leave without eating, Dean stuffing the Moleskin back into his pocket. They race out of the city and back to the Hale clearing, and when Dean throws the door to Peter’s cabin open, Talia Hale is already there along with Peter, Derek, and Derek’s sister, Laura. The four of them are seated around the table, and they look up when Dean and Cas burst in.

“We have to move up our timeline,” Dean says. “The full moon is this weekend.”

“Yes, we’re aware,” Talia says drily. “We are werewolves, after all.”

“Deucalion is having guests this weekend,” Cas says. “They have to get ready, and they’ve put us in charge.”

Talia’s fists clench on top of the table. “Guests? Do you know who?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, but we figure they’ve got to be pretty bad, so we’d better deal with our problem before they get here.”

“You’re right.” Talia offers him a stiff smile. “Then we’d better get down to business.”

Over the past weeks, Dean and Cas have been gathering as much information about the Alpha Pack’s operation as they can – how many people they have in their employ, what those people do, where they live, where the safe houses and weapons caches are, how their drug operation runs, any and all information, no mater how small or inconsequential it seems.

Using this information, the six of them craft a plan. It, like all of Dean’s plans, is horrifically bad and incredibly dangerous with multiple moving parts. So it should work out perfectly. Again, Dean wishes for Sam and his big brain (encased by equally big hair) to hammer out any issues or holes before they can rip the entire plan apart.

The next day, they put their plan into action because there’s no time like the present, and if they put it off any longer, they’ll probably find several giant flaws in the idea and psyche themselves out.

They break into teams – Dean and Cas, Peter and Talia, Laura and Derek – and they split up as they enter town, each heading for a different human outpost. Dean and Cas take the Wolf’s Hound Pub, and Dean jimmies the back door open. They creep inside on silent feet, weapons drawn – Cas has a heavy-duty crossbow since he’s not entirely sure that his powers will work the way he wants them to. It’s 12:45.

Dean can hear four or five people moving around in the bar area, and he looks to Cas with his finger over his lips. They sneak through the back pantry and empty kitchen and come out directly behind the bar. Dean and Cas crouch in the doorway so they won’t be visible over the bar’s surface and watch as the bartender – the same burly man as before – wipes down a glass, his back to them.

Dean darts forward. One hand wraps around the man’s mouth, and the other digs a knife under the ribs and through his heart, and Dean drags the man down and out of sight, cushioning the fall so that the body doesn’t make a sound.

“Hey, Mark, where are you? Can I get a scotch?” Scarface’s familiar voice walks up to the bar.

Dean picks up the bartender’s rag and fallen glass and stands, running the cloth across the inside of the cup, and grins at Scarface. “Hey, man, how’s it going? Good to see you again.”

Scarface goes for his gun, but Dean gets there first, dropping the glass and rag and drawing his crossbow, his finger clenching so that he shoots Scarface in the chest.

Tweedledee, Tweedledum, Glasses, and Ponytail have noticed the commotion by now, and three of them reach for their weapons while Ponytail grabs a walkie off the table. Cas vaults over the bar, holding the massive crossbow in one hand, and he puts an electric bolt in Ponytail’s shoulder so that the greasy man drops the walkie talkie, and it breaks.

Dean fires his last two bolts – one for Tweedledee and one for Tweedledum, and Cas appears beside Glasses, his hand tapping her forehead and sending her to sleep. He glances over his shoulder at Dean, mouth curling a little sheepishly. “I’m really glad that worked. I wasn’t sure it was going to.”

“Good work.” Dean texts the others, telling the others that they’ve dealt with their outposts. His phone dings twice, informing him that his friends have been successful as well.

 _Converge on the Lion’s Den,_ Talia orders. It’s 12:47.

Dean and Cas tie up the unconscious humans and heap the dead ones together, and then they leave the Wolf’s Hound Pub through the front door, reloading their weapons as they go.

They meet up with Talia Hale when they reach the layer of buildings around the Lion’s Den but no one else – too many werewolves in one place and they risk being detected by the Alpha Pack before they can pull off the last part of their plan. It’s 12:59.

“Are you ready?” Talia whispers after she appears around a dark corner, seeming to come from nowhere. During the planning stages, she insisted on coming with them into the Lion’s Den, though it’s the first time she’s been back in Beacon Hills since the Alpha Pack burned down her house, and she looks a little shaky. But then her eyes glow red, and the tremors in her hands disappear.

Dean nods. “Are you?”

“I am. Finally.” She holds out her hand to him. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

Dean gives her a small smile as he takes it. “Then let’s kick some puppy dog ass.”

With Derek, Peter, and Laura to cover the exits, the human, the angel, and the werewolf make their way to the front entrance of the Lion’s Den, sounding like something straight out of a terrible fairy tale, in Dean’s opinion.

Just before they walk through the front doors, Dean handcuffs Talia’s hands behind her back. The cuffs are special made to look like and smell like they have wolfsbane running through them without actually being toxic to Talia – all courtesy of Deaton.

Cas shoves the door open, and they file into the empty bar. Talia sniffs. “They’re here.”

“Hey, Deucalion,” Dean yells, his voice echoing around the wide space. “I know you’re busy, but we brought you a present.”

Kali appears behind the bar, no doubt stepping up from the hidden staircase. “We told you not to bother us,” she snarls.

Dean steps to the side to reveal Talia Hale in handcuffs. He gestures at her and grins. “We thought this might warrant the disturbance.”

Intrigued, Kali leaps the bar and stalks towards them, bare feet silent on the floor. “Interesting – is that…Talia Hale?”

“We caught her skulking around the edges of the city,” Cas says. “We heard through the grapevine that she was on your Most Wanted list.”

Talia growls at them and rattles her handcuffs, fury in her eyes, her hair wild around her face. Dean punches her in the stomach, not too hard, but she doubles up convincingly, growls turning to whimpers.

“I’ll go get the others,” Kali says, still grinning, fangs growing just a little bit.

Dean nods, and with one last, leering look at Talia, Kali walks back the way she came and slips over the bar. As soon as she’s gone Dean pulls out his phone – _Come through the windows in five minutes._ It’s 1:02.

They’ll outnumber the Alpha Pack by one, but Dean really doesn’t think that’s going to afford them any advantages.

Deucalion appears on the other side of the bar, followed by Kali, Ennis, and Twin 2. “Boys, good to see you,” Deucalion says as he comes around the corner, cane tip tapping on the floor. “Kali says you’ve brought me a present.”

Talia growls, and through his grip on her arm, Dean can feel her trembling, and he squeezes slightly. The trembling continues, but at least Talia stops growling. “You’ve been so good to us, so we thought we’d return the favor,” Dean says. At any second, he’s convinced that Deucalion is suddenly going to realize that he’s lying through his teeth, but Cas’s screen is holding steady – for now.

The Alpha Pack fans out. Dean’s heart and hands are steady as rocks, just as they always are in the moments before a fight.

“Bring her here,” Deucalion says and stretches out a hand.

“Actually, she’s not the present,” Dean says. “This is.” And he lifts his pocket crossbow and fires wolfsbane laced arrow right at Deucalion’s heart.

Deucalion catches the arrow – Dean sees long, long claws on his hand – and though his facial expression doesn’t change, Dean can tell that he’s shocked. Kali growls, she, Ennis, and Twin 1 dropping into crouches. Finally, teeth show, and eyes glow.

“Explain yourself, Dean,” Deucalion says, calm forced into his voice.

“You’re an assbutt,” Cas says, and he, too, pulls the trigger on his crossbow.

The action sends the room into chaos (though Dean has time to think about how Cas is still terrible at insults and one liners), and Talia rips her handcuffs off, lunging directly towards Deucalion. At the same time, Peter, Derek, and Laura smash through the windows in a terrific shower of glass.

Twin 2 rushes Dean, no doubt craving payback for his brother’s shooting, and his beefy shoulder slams into Dean’s chest before he can get a shot off, and they crash to the ground, the sound of deep growling in Dean’s ear, and he sees fangs and glowing red eyes. Dean gets his feet between him and Twin 2 and shoves, flinging the man off him before the sharp claws can slice into him.

Deucalion roars, the sound rattling the remaining windows and the rafters of the buildings so that dust rains down around them, and the Alpha Pack’s eyes all glow a little brighter. Dean clamps his hands over his ears – it feels like the sound is going to drive him right through the ground.

When the roar stops and he regains his feet, Twin 2 is standing beside Twin 1, both of them hulking and overly muscled in their leather jackets. Then they turn to each other, clap hands, and literally join together, the one slipping into the other, and even from this distance, Dean can hear bones cracking and tendons creaking until they’ve doubled in size. A jagged line runs down the middle of their face and bare chest – they’ve ripped out of their shirts. Their face is grotesque, thick sideburns crawling down their cheeks, ears pointed and furry, eyes glowing a vibrant red.

“Oh fuck,” Dean sighs.

The Twins come charging at him.

He fires once, twice, and both bolts strike home, though they barely slow the raging Alphas, and Dean dives to the side as he draws his steampunk gun. The Twins barrel past him, but before he can turn to face them again, Kali slams into him, fangs snapping at his neck. He gets one hand under her chin, but he doesn’t have the right leverage to throw her off. Her red eyes fill his field of vision, her teeth long and white as they descend towards him.

“Cas,” he grunts, and Cas is there, lifting Kali off him and flinging her into the wall. Cas grabs Dean’s hand and hauls him upright, and Dean turns around just in time to see the Twins rushing towards him once again, though this time, they’re wobbling just a little from the effects of the wolfsbane. It only takes one electric bullet to put them down and separate them, and they both fall to the ground, unconscious, maybe dead.

He looks back towards the rest of the battle just in time to see Deucalion get a hand around Talia’s throat and fling her headfirst into the bar where she crumples, hardly conscious. Somewhere along the line, Deucalion discarded his cane and glasses, and his eyes are two red orbs, his face turned animalistic and monstrous. He roars when he sees Dean watching, but he turns to deal with Talia first, his hand curled into talons.

“No. No, no, no,” Dean says, rushing forward. Kali runs to intercept, but Cas steps forward to meet her, Derek approaching from the other side to lend aid, and Peter and Laura are trading blows with Ennis, all three of them bleeding.

Dean fires two shots into Deucalion’s back before his steampunk pistol decides to jam, but the Alpha of Alphas isn’t even fazed. All Dean does is get the wolf’s attention, and Deucalion turns to snarl at him. “I trusted you.” His voice is barely recognizable through the teeth and the growling.

“That was your mistake,” Dean says. He draws his regular pistol, the one with the pearl handle, even though he doesn’t have any wolfsbane bullets for it, and he doubts it will do any damage to Deucalion.

Deucalion takes a step towards him. “I don’t like being double crossed.”

“No one does,” Dean says. “That doesn’t make you special.”

“How dare you talk to me that way,” Deucalion growls. His face morphs even more as he talks, the hair growing longer and the ridges on his brow becoming more pronounced.

Dean lifts his gun. “I’ll talk to you any damn why I like. You’re just another bully, and you might have claws and a scary voice, but that doesn’t make you God.”

“God doesn’t have claws,” Cas pipes up helpfully. He has his arms wrapped around Kali, restraining her, as Derek stabs his claws into her chest.

“This is my town. I own it. I run it. I decide who lives and who dies, and I’ve just decided that you should die, Dean.” Deucalion spits out Dean’s name.

“This is not your town,” another voice interrupts, and Dean sees Talia stand over Deucalion’s shoulder, shaky but upright. Deucalion starts to turn, but Talia moves faster, and she drives her claws right into his back, her hand tightening, and then, with a wet, squelching sound, she rips his spine right out of his body, blood showering her face.

Surprise and shock carve their way into Deucalion’s expression before his eyes glaze over and the red glow drains out of them, his face then folding itself back into its normal human features. Talia’s own eyes flare, brighter than Dean has ever seen them, and she tips back her head and howls, the sound arcing to every corner of the building and out the broken windows to fly across the town.

The fighting stops. Kali and Ennis are the only two left alive and conscious (Dean’s not entirely sure how the Twins are doing), and at the sound of Talia’s roar, they freeze, and they shift back to human. Cas releases Kali, and she stumbles towards the body of her fallen leader along with Ennis. They drop to their knees in the pool of blood.

“What have you done?” Kali yells, eyes flashing red as she lunges up towards Talia, but another roar from the Hale Alpha sends her cowering back.

“You’re going to leave this town,” Talia says. “And if I ever see you again, I’ll rip out your spines, too.” She waves Deucalion’s vertebrae spine for emphasis. She jerks her head towards the Twins. “And take your overly muscled friends with you.”

Kali and Ennis glance at each other, faces twitching, but eventually, they decide to do the smart thing and scuttle away, each of them grabbing a twin before skedaddling all the way out of the pub.

“That was awesome,” Dean says to Talia.

She drops the spine on top of Deucalion’s body. “I…I can’t believe I did it.”

“He’s dead.” Peter limps over to join his sister, one hand clamped to his bleeding side. “Deucalion is finally dead.”


	6. Giant Magical Tree

They burn the Lion’s Den down. It’s Talia’s decision. She wants every last scrape of Deucalion gone, and there will be no evidence of the death for the police to find. The human deaths around the city will be put down to gang warfare, and the culprit will never be found.

Bleeding but triumphant, the ragtag Pack limps its way back to the woods and their set of cabins. They all file into Peter’s home and drop into chairs or onto the bed, groaning in pain. The werewolves were already healing, albeit slowly since the wounds are from Alphas. Dean dumps his various weapons into a pile beside him and drapes one arm over his eyes. He feels Cas sit down beside him and gives the angel his free hand.

“I know I’ve already said it, but thank you,” Talia says.

“It was a good time,” Dean says. “You guys are handy in a fight.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll finish the job and make sure every last scrap of their operation is stamped out.”

Tomorrow. Maybe make it the day after because Dean feels as if he could sleep for a solid twenty-four hours. And just the thought of sleep sends him drifting off into la-la land, his mind mercifully blank of dreams or nightmares.

He awakes at noon the next day, crumpled on the floor with his head pillowed in Cas’s lap, the rest of the Pack in various states of unconsciousness around the cabin. “Aw hell,” he says as he stretches and realizes that he has a massive crick in his neck, and he can barely turn his head to the side.

His voice and movement wake up the Hale Pack, well, all except for Peter who sleeps like a rock and can’t even be wakened by an earthquake. Talia sits up first, blinking and rubbing at her eyes with a hand still stained with dried blood. Derek is next, followed by Laura, and Derek grumbles at the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

The door bursts open, and Deaton bustles through, holding a white paper bag and talking at the top of his lungs, the rate at which the words are coming out of his mouth indicating that he is, in fact, incredibly high.

“Hey guys, how’s it going? Heard about what you did yesterday – super dope, good job. The Alpha Pack ran out of town with their tails tucked between their legs. Anywho, I thought I’d come help you find the Nemeton Tree! I’m curious to see it. Also I brought donuts.” He throws the white paper bag at Derek’s chest.

Dean blinks several times, his still asleep brain unable to process such a flood of words, but the smell of the maple glazed donut he takes from the bag when its passed to him does wonders for his mental state.

“The Nemeton Tree?” Talia says.

Oh, right. Dean and Cas have yet to tell her that they’re from a parallel world and are searching for a magical tree to help them travel home again.

“You didn’t know?” Deaton says, his nimble fingers rolling a slim joint of blue powder. “Dean-o and his feathered friend aren’t from this world.”

Dean drops his head into his hands.

“What?” Talia yelps, and Peter snorts, eyes cracking open.

“Whaz happening?” he mumbles.

“We’re not aliens,” Dean says, though he’s not sure why he feels it’s necessary to make this distinction. “We’re just from a parallel world.”

“You didn’t think it was important to mention this to me sooner?” Talia asks, eyes narrowed.

“Parallel who-now?” Peter says, smacking his lips.

“Come on, it’s kind of a large pill to swallow,” Dean points out. He just wants to eat his donut, but he has to explain this first. “We thought it would be easier to not tell you.”

“But you told _Deaton_?” Talia points an accusatory finger at the vet.

“He guessed,” Dean explains.

Talia turns her sharp gaze on Derek. “Did you know about this?”

Derek looks like he wants to hide under the table. “Yes, they told me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

At that, the anger, which mostly stemmed from her shock, falls from Talia’s face. “Parallel worlds,” she murmured with a snort. “Who would’ve thought it.”

“What are we talking about?” Peter asks. He finally sits up, appearing more or less awake.

“I’ll explain later,” Talia promises. “Now this tree, do you know where to find it?”

“We do.” Dean looks around and finds his books, stuffing half a donut in his mouth as he goes to get them. He drops the tomes on the table and opens the volume on ley lines. He’s marked the page and pulls out the map he drew on, unfolding it until he can can point on the five-line intersection. “Here. But we don’t know how to use the tree and its ley lines to travel home.”

Peter tumbles out of bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. “Seriously, what are we talking about?”

Talia waves him away. “I’ll explain later.” She looks back at Dean and Cas. “I’m sure we can figure something out when we get there.”

They leave Laura behind to guard to clearing, and the rest of them set off into the woods, using a compass and Dean’s map to head in the direction of the Nemeton Tree. Dean has all his weapons hanging off him, wanting to be prepared for anything.

The group walks for several hours. Cas comes up to Dean and puts his hand on Dean’s elbow, and when Dean looks over, Cas’s teeth are gritted, tension creasing his brow. “I can feel it,” Cas says. “It’s like a pressure on my head. It hurts.”

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?” Dean asks. He slips his hand into Cas’s and squeezes.

“It’s all around us, but…” Cas flinches, eyes shutting. “I think its center is over there.” He points to the left, just a little way off the line that they’ve been following.

Dean looks over his shoulder at the others. “We’re close.”

“Close to what?” Peter demands. “Will someone please explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

By this time, Dean is pretty sure Talia isn’t telling Peter what they’re doing because she thinks his mounting frustration is hilarious.

The group takes off running. Dean starts it – he can feel a growing excitement at the idea of finally going home, and he can’t wait any longer. “Oh shit, we’re running now,” Deaton says, and soon, they’re flying through the forest, leaping fallen logs and sliding up and down the dips and swells in the land. Dean keeps hold of Cas’s hand because the angel’s balance has gone a little wonky, and there’s pain splattered across his face.

Five minutes later, Dean slams to a stop. Literally, he slams into some kind of force field, and all his forward momentum is checked. He crashes to the ground, knocking over Cas and Peter. Talia leaps over him but skids to a halt before she runs into the thing Dean hit, Derek veering to the side, and Deaton is far enough behind that he doesn’t have to worry about colliding with anyone.

“Ow, what the hell?” Dean groans, rubbing at his head. He disentangles himself from Cas and Peter and slowly stands. There’s the taste of lightning in his mouth, and when he looks over at Cas to help him up, the angel’s dark hair is sticking straight up.

Talia stretches out a hand and walks forward. She only takes three steps before her hand is slowed, and a ripple of blue force moves away from her fingers. Hissing in pain, she pulls her hand back and shakes away the smoke rising from her skin.

Through the once again invisible force field, Dean sees a massive, sprawling tree, the biggest one he’s ever encountered. It’s easily the width of three old oaks pressed together, and it reaches so high into the sky that the upper branches seem to disappear. Power rolls off of it, and even Dean can feel it – a buzzing in his teeth, a rattling in his spine. Cas can no longer stand, pain written across his face, and Dean has to support him on one side. He can feel Cas’s body shaking.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathes, standing slowly.

Derek helps Dean hold Cas up, the angel draped between them. “How do we get to it?” he wonders.

“I got this! I got this!” Deaton bustles up, pulling vials from the actual fanny pack he wears around his waist. He hands a few to Peter to hold while he fishes more out, and then he sits himself down with a mortar and pestle and starts grinding herbs and powders together, humming as he does so. “I need a drop of the angel’s blood,” he says as he reaches out and pricks Cas’s finger, catching the drop of blood in his bowl. He adds one last powder, gives everything a stir, and then passes the whole concoction to Dean. “Alright, just toss it on the force field.”

“What is it?” Dean asks, looking down at the multicolored powder sitting in the bottom of the stone bowl.

“No idea. Just toss it.”

Dean shrugs and does as he’s told, slinging the bowl so that the concoction slides out of it, flies through the air, and strikes the invisible force field. The air ripples red and purple, the disturbance moving up and to the left and right, away from the original strike of the powder. A gust of the air smacks Dean in the face, smelling of pine and sap.

When the wind hits Cas, he gasps and throws his head back, his eyes glowing white, and Dean looks around to see that the werewolves’ eyes are all flashing as well. Dean and Derek support Cas as they walk towards the giant tree. The closer they get, the larger the Nemeton Tree becomes until it seems to fill Dean’s entire world, and then, all of a sudden, they’re standing right before one of its roots, and even that towers over Dean. He cranes his neck back to look up at the tree. Vertigo washes over him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. He makes sure he’s looking down at the ground before he opens them again.

“Cas, are you okay?” he asks because the angel is very pale when Dean looks over at him.

The only sound Cas can make is a low groan.

“We need to get this done quick,” Dean says to Talia and Derek, nerves crawling at his stomach that something might happen to Cas if they stay here too long. He looks to Deaton for advice. “Do you know what we should do?”

Deaton shrugs, having finished his first joint and started to roll a second. “I don’t know. You could try touching it and focusing real hard on your destination.”

Dean isn’t too sure about that tactic, but he reaches his hand out towards the tree root anyways. “Wait, stop!” Deaton yelps when Dean’s fingertips are barely an inch from the wood. Dean quickly jerks his hand back.

“Just realized that the power of the tree will probably burn you up. Here, you’d better take this first.” He pulls two purple and red flowers from his fanny pack and passes them to Dean and Cas. “Also, here’s a little present from me to you.” He hands Dean a wooden box, and when Dean flips it open, he sees a set of vials filled with different colored powders.

“Thanks, I guess,” Dean says.

Talia touches his arm. “Dean, Cas, thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“What can I say, I can’t resist a pretty face.” Dean winks at her, smiling. She gives him a one armed hug since his other arm is busy holding a nearly unconscious Cas upright.

“I still don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll be sorry to see you go,” Peter says, stepping forward. “You’re a true friend, Dean.”

“You too, Peter.” No, those are definitely not tears pricking Dean’s eyes. He and Peter clasp hands, and then Derek leans around Cas so he can look at Dean.

“You’ve taught me a lot. I’ll never forget you,” Derek says.

Dean smiles at him. “Just remember it’s okay to be assertive sometimes.” God knows the Derek on Dean’s earth is assertive enough for the both of them.

Dean puts one of the flowers in Cas’s slack mouth and then bites down on the second plant. The taste of roses and lavender floods his mouth. Fixing an image of Sammy firmly in his head, he stretches his hand out and touches the dark wood of the Nemeton Tree’s root.

He and Cas are jerked off their feet, and darkness blots out Dean’s vision. A brief pressure crushes his chest, and then any sense of being ceases to exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And tada! Welcome to the end of Dean and Cas's adventures on a parallel world. I hope you have enjoyed the romp. Please check back to this series soon for the next chapter of the main story line because I'm finally back on track with that and am getting work done on it. Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you thought! (Also, I apologize for last chapter's drunken note).


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